Recognition
by ScribbleWorld
Summary: Remus and Harry meet for the first time, on the Hogwarts express. At first, all seems normal, but when Remus sparks recognition in Harry's memory what will happen next? No Slash, Abuse mentioned, eventual HHr.
1. Sighting

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: This idea just sort of came to me while I was laying in bed this morning. Hope you enjoy it! It's a oneshot. :)

Recognition, Chapter One

"Do you think we should wake him up?" Ron asked awkwardly, looking sideways at the sleeping man. His face was turned away from them, breath fogging the glass and obscuring any possible reflection of his face. Hermione approached the seemingly comatose man.

"Er - professor? Excuse me, professor -" He didn't budge. The trolley witch shook her head and clucked sympathetically, as if she knew something they didn't.

"Don't worry, dears," she said. "If he's hungry when he wakes up, I'll be up front." And with that, she slid the compartment door shut, and continued on her way, pushing the clattering trolley in front of her. Ron looked rather worried for the man.

"He is asleep," He asked uncertainly, seeming to refrain from poking him. "I mean - he's not dead, right?" Harry and Hermione sorted simultaneously, but it was Hermione who spoke first, correcting Ron.

"Don't be silly, Ronald." She said rather imperiously. "Can't you see he's breathing?" She nodded towards the fogged glass. Ron colored, and bent his head over a Cauldron Cake Harry had passed him. He broke off a large piece, and shoved it into his mouth without ceremony. Harry rolled his eyes at his friends' antics, and unwrapped his cake.

They had almost forgotten the sleeping wizard in the compartment until, about thirty minutes after they had bought their sweets, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle turned up. They sneering at them as they slid open the glass door, Malfoy holding his wand aloft - pointed in their general direction.

"Well." He said. "If it isn't the Potty, the Weasel, and a Mudblood. No wonder this car stinks." Ron stood up immediately, forgetting that his wand was somewhere buried in a pocket of his trunk. Harry stood too, though he managed to contain his anger.

Malfoy, though, didn't seem to see the signs of their anger, and continued to speak condescendingly. "So. Weasel. I heard your family finally got their filthy, peasant hands on some gold earlier this summer. Did your mother die of shock?" Malfoy mimed a dramatic rendition of a heart attack, Crabbe and Goyle chucking trollishly behind him. Ron had turned a shade of deep magenta which clashed horribly with his bright red hair.

"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry said cooly, raising a hand and grabbing Ron's arm - which he had raised to hit the three boys. Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and looked around their car. For the first time, he noticed Professor R. J. Lupin, who still sleeping heavily in the corner. Malfoy started, but still managed to look disdainful.

"Who's that?" He asked rudely, pointing one spidery finger at the greying professor. Sensing that he had found a weapon, Harry answered,

"New teacher. Now, what were you saying, Malfoy?" The Slytherin took a small step back, tightening his fists. But no matter how little he showed it, even he was not stupid enough to start a fight in front of a teacher. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to think the same.

As his beefy face scrunched with indecision, Goyle scratched his head - increasing his already substantial likeness to an unusually ugly gorilla. Goyle, it seemed, had managed to grow a thin mustache over the summer, and it covered his upper lip like a malformed leech. It seemed to wriggle as his face contorted.

"C'mon," Malfoy said, and he stepped out of sight, the two other boys trailing after him. Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron attempting (unsuccessfully) to crack his knuckles with menace.

"I swear," he began, "I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year! And I mean it this time! If he makes fun of my family one more time-" Ron mimed a punch angrily. Hermione, though she looked amused at Ron's threat, whispered:

"Ron! Be careful!" She gestured at the (still sleeping) professor with her head. As if he knew they were speaking about him, he gave a small snort and rolled slightly over to the side so he was facing the backrest of the chairs. Ron didn't look convinced, clearly having lost his fear that he would awaken at the precise moment when he was saying something incriminating.

"He's sleeping, isn't he?" Hermione stiffened, and sighed long-sufferingly.

"Yes, he is, but that doesn't mean he'll stay that way!"

"Hermione, he's been dead asleep for a good three hours! I doubt he's going to wake from me talking." Hermione retorted vehemently, but Harry had managed to drown out their bickering. He was, depressingly, used to it by now. He stared meditatively out the window towards the dimming countryside. The sun was setting on the other side of the car, but it was obvious that it would be barely a minute or two until the scenery was enveloped in darkness.

Fields of crops, lakes, and the occasional summer cottage flew by as the Hogwarts Express sped towards it's destination with impossible speed. Hermione had fallen asleep, her head resting on an unhappy-looking Ron, who was apparently debating whether or not to wake her up. Harry was tired, but couldn't seem to be able to fall asleep. He gave an annoyed look at the barely snoring professor opposite him, wishing he had the man's apparent gift of deep sleep. He had the all-too-familiar feeling that he was missing something. Or perhaps it was anticipation for some unforeseen event.

For the first time since he'd finished his explanation to Ron and Hermione, he allowed his thoughts to rest of Sirius Black. Sirius Black. He knew it shouldn't, but somehow, the name seemed to resonate nicely - even familiarly - in his head. But he couldn't think that. The man was trying to kill him!

But why me? He snorted to himself. That was a stupid question. When was it not me?

Sometimes, he felt as if he had been chosen to be a game of fates. First he was a wizard, then a wizard famous for something he didn't even remember. Then he prevented an evil wizard from rising (via use of a stone, of all things) and proceeded to kill a basilisk. Was it really too much of a surprise that someone was trying to kill him? Again?

As Harry continued on that unhappy train of thought, he watched his surroundings get darker, and darker. He frowned. It seemed like that had happened awfully fast. Was it supposed to go from light, to pitch black in just two minutes? He didn't think so. But then again, he'd never really had time to watch the sunset at the Dursleys.

He only knew something was wrong for certain when the train screeched to a halt in unusual haste. Hermione had woken up, and was looking rather embarrassed and annoyed with her choice of headrest.

"Are we there already?" She asked, smoothing her robes. Doubt it, Harry thought.

"No," Ron said, frowning. "You haven't been asleep that long. We should still have a little more than an hour..." he trailed off, not needing to continue. In a sudden flash, all the train's lights went out, somehow simultaneously managing to envelope the train in icy cold.

"W-What's going on?" Hermione asked in a shaky voice. She knocked against Harry's side as she attempted to reach the compartment door and tripped over her luggage.

"Harry! Hermione!" Ron said worriedly. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine..." They head the grinding sound of the opening slide door. Harry, though nervous, spoke first.

"Who's there?" He asked, and a familiar male voice responded.

"It's me - Neville." There was a sudden 'oof!' as Neville apparently tried to sit down on a seat where Hermione had stationed herself. "Sorry, Hermione," he said apologetically. Harry felt his way back to his seat, and sat down. He turned towards the window next to him, and his hand squeaked against the icy glass as he wiped it off, looking out. Outside, there were several moving figures; tall and dark.

"There's somebody, or something, getting on the train - a few of them," Harry reported in a hushed voice. The other occupants of the car quieted, shifting uncomfortably.

"Who do you think it is, more students?"

"No, there's never been more stops before, they would have warned us..."

"Hey guys, what's going on?"

"Ginny?"

"Hey! That's my foot, be careful!"

"Geez, just move your foot, Ron!"

"Why should I-"

"Quiet!" A rasping voice interrupted the bickering of Ginny, Ron and Hermione. Harry turned around just in time to see a bright flame appear in the - now awoken and standing - professor's hand. This was the first time he had really seen the man's face in full.

Lupin had gray-flecked brown hair, golden-amber eyes, and multiple scars of varying age on his forearms and face. Harry could tell that he was younger than he looked. His face was lined, but unlike Dumbledore or McGonagall it was lined with stress. He could detect a few old smile lines at the corners of his mouth, but it was obvious they were old.

Harry was about to forget it, and continue his thought process back to the problem at hand (the blackout) when R. J. Lupin did something curious, though to anyone else it would seem unnoticeable. He turned his head slightly to the left, cracking it with a tiny 'pop!'. Then, he reached his right (and flame-less) hand up to the stretched part of his neck, and pushed against the skin rather roughly.

Harry blinked. That motion... But what was he thinking. He had never seen this man before. He was just imagining things. To affirm his thoughts, he looked up at Lupin's face again - this time more closely. Mentally, he erased many years of stress, toil, and poverty. What remained was... Harry's eyes widened monumentally, his throat closing - his heart expanding in his chest. He gulped, which reopened his throat, but refused to still his heavily beating heart.

Harry opened his mouth, but it was too dry to speak. As the man turned towards him, looking haunted, Harry began to have a flashback which he had tried so hard to forget...

Flashback:

A four-year-old Harry sobbed noiselessly, his cries silenced by a thin, worn blanket pressed to his mouth - muffling his voice. He knew all too well that, despite their own roaring snores, the Dursleys were surprisingly light sleepers when it came to noises outside their room. Uncle Vernon wouldn't be happy if Harry woke him up. Harry shivered in terror at the thought of his glaring uncle looking down into his cupboard at him.

No, he wouldn't be happy at all.

Why do I have to have these dreams? He wondered blankly, once his crying had finally ceased. It's not fair. Dudley has uncle and auntie, and I barely have dream-people. Harry shook away those thoughts. Though he wished fervently that his dream-family could be real, but he knew it could never be true. Plus, they were all too strange to be real. Who had names like "Padfoot," or "Moony," and carried sticks that could shoot beams everywhere?

Besides, he admitted to himself, It's not really a normal family at all. Harry had always wanted a big family - a mother, father, cousins, even aunts and uncles - if they weren't Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, that is. In his dreams, he always had a mother with red hair and pretty green eyes, and a tall father with unruly (whatever that meant - he had heard Aunt Petunia call his hair that many times, and liked to imagine that his father's hair would be the same) black hair, and a wide, mischievous smile.

But I can't forget my uncles, the small boy thought, smiling weakly. All three of them! His smile grew ever-so-slightly larger. In his dreams, there was rarely a time when Uncle Padfoot, Uncle Moony, and his third uncle weren't around. His smile wilted a bit. He always felt bad for the third uncle - he always seemed so busy, having to be away all the time, and he could never remember his name. Harry hoped he had a strange name like Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony.

But Harry did have to admit to himself that he liked Paddy and Moony better than the third dream-man; the third man was never as nice, and he rarely even smiled at Harry.

But even if he was unsure about the third uncle, he definitely loved Padfoot and Moony. Padfoot was most like his father of the two. He was tall, tanned, and had long black hair. Harry's dreams often starred his father and Padfoot doing something funny (often for the amusement of Harry himself) and getting half-heartedly scolded by his mother.

Moony, however, may have been his favorite of his three uncles - not that he'd admit that even to himself. He loved Padfoot (as much as you could love an imaginary person) very much, but it was always Moony who was patient enough to read to him, to carry him outdoors to watch as his mum, dad, and Padfoot flew through the air on strange sticks, throwing balls to each other. It was always Moony who was a light enough sleeper to wake when he cried even a little bit at night; not Padfoot, or even his parents, all of whom he assumed to be deep sleepers.

The four-year-old allowed his thoughts to wander back to his parents. Like the third uncle (as Harry liked to think of him as) he could never remember their names - though he longed to know them many times more.

Harry lay back on the thin, lumpy mattress in the cupboard under the stairs with a smile on his face; thinking of them. His father would be wild, and mischievous - but loyal and kind. His mother, as he knew (from books) all good mothers were, would be loving and kind - though occasionally strict.

He wondered idly what Aunt Petunia would say if he told her about his dream-parents. He had always been too afraid to ask about his real ones, beyond a short explanation by his uncle. He recalled rather unhappily what Vernon had told him:

"They were unemployed! Worthless, uneducated drunks that went and got themselves killed by their own stupidity! Now don't ask questions, idiot brat!"

He blinked quickly, trying not to start crying again. He didn't really know what 'drunk' or 'uneducated' meant, but he'd heard his uncle call people (usually homeless people, and door-to-door salesmen) these words before, and he knew they weren't good.

He knew, also, deep in his heart, that they were right. The parents of a freak like him wouldn't be so nice as his dream-parents were. Harry swallowed thickly. His throat felt swollen with the effort to remain silent.

It wouldn't help anything to keep fantasizing like this. The three things his guardians hated the most were Harry, unnatural things, and questions. Harry didn't doubt that this subject - encompassing all three categories - would bring forth their wrath.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but a loud, wet sob had left his lips before he'd had time to cover it with his blanket - now bunched around his feet. The high, prepubescent sob seemed to echo loudly in the house.

Harry froze, sitting stock still and upright on his bed. For a second, it seemed nothing had happened. No noise was in the house. Harry began to relax. Then:

"BOY!" Came a loud, masculine voice from above him. Harry scooted back into the corner of his cupboard, terrified out of his mind. The slow, but stair-shaking footsteps of his uncle began descending the staircase above his head, causing sawdust to fall down onto Harry's hunched form.

It was only a second before the door was wrenched open, revealing his uncle's piggy face, small eyes, and thick (and sleep-mussed, strangely) mustache. A gigantic - by Harry's point of view - beefy hand grabbed him by his upper arm. His uncles fingers easily wrapped around his arm, squeezing it tightly until Harry felt something break. He whimpered, curling up into a ball.

The last thing he saw was the red-rimmed eyes and descending hand of his uncle before his whole world returned to black.

End Flashback

It wasn't possible. This... man in front of him simply didn't exist. He was a character of Harry's dreams as a child. Not a defense professor at a school of magic. The man looked at Harry for a long moment, drinking him in like a dehydrated man would a bottle of cool, fresh spring water.

It was almost against Harry's own will that he spoke; his voice barely above a whisper.

"M-Moony?" His voice should have been too low to hear. Even Neville, who was sitting directly next to him didn't hear - and Moony... no. The professor was a good eight feet from him.

But, nonetheless, the reaction was instantaneous. The man's eyes widened into unprecedented size, and mouth hanging open in shock. The flame went out in his hand, once again enveloping the car in darkness. Ron, who had finally returned to his senses, lit his wand (which he had retrieved from his trunk) with a startled, Lumos charm.

Hermione gave a small 'yip!' surprise as the man collapsed right next to her; almost onto her lap; sitting bonelessly - barely conscious from shock. He stared at Harry as if seeing a ghost (though Harry doubted this was the right expression - most of the wizarding population had seem a ghost at some time or other) and Harry didn't look much different. Wide-eyed, weak-kneed, and utterly astonished.

"B-But," the man stuttered helplessly. "You were only o-one year old..." Besides the graying professor (Not Moony! Harry reminded himself) and the practically incapacitated Harry, no one else in their compartment breathed a word, not understanding what was going on. Hell, nobody understood what was going on.

"How?" asked the Boy Who Lived, still staring at R. J. Lupin's now familiar golden-amber eyes. Moony's eyes. "You're... you're only... only a dream. Y-you're not real... only a dream..." The shocked professor had no response to this, still staring at Harry. After almost a minute of silence, (none of Harry's friends dared end the silence, despite their curiosity of the two males' apparent connection, and fear of the newest occupants of the train) Harry straightened up, attempting to compose himself.

"I'm sorry, professor. I thought... you..." he trailed off uncertainly, then cleared his throat and started a different way. "You... resemble someone I knew from a childhood dream." He looked down at his feet rather bitterly, this time speaking under his breath, talking more to himself than anyone else. "You can't be my uncle Moony."

But once again, somehow, the professor seemed to have heard him. He slumped further into his seat, still staring unseeingly at Harry, his eyes widening even more.

Then, Lupin spoke directly to Harry for the first time, "It's... it's fine, Har-" he broke off. "Mr. Potter." It looked as if saying those two words pained him, and his eyes clouded for a second. But at those two words - if 'Mr.' was a word - Harry felt himself break inside.

He would know that voice anywhere. How he had failed to recognize it when the professor first spoke, he didn't know. Harry had dreamed of being read to by that exact voice countless times. Maybe even hundreds. It was impossible for him not to recognize it. Harry collapsed, to his friend's great alarm. They bunched around him, checking to see if he was alright.

Harry felt energy-less, as if someone had sucked all the strength out of him in the space of a few seconds. His eyes looked unseeingly at the legs of the comfortable train-chairs, which were now at his eye level.

It's him. Harry thought in a burst of certainty. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but this is really my uncle Moony, invented character or not.

Harry barely noticed when a cold, dark feeling washed over him, he was so astounded. Even as he fell, almost unconscious, a small smile crept over his features.

Finally.

A/N: Hey guys! So... how'd you like it? Depending on your reaction (positive or negative) I may or may not make this more than just a oneshot. So, if you do want me to continue - review/message me saying so.


	2. Visitors

A/N: Well! Thanks to overwhelming support, (thanks for all the reviews, guys!) I will be continuing this story.

Recognition, Chapter Two

The first thing the Boy Who Lived was conscious of was, strangely enough, what seemed to be a pebble underneath his shoulder blades. He shifted uncomfortably, but his only caused it to dig deeper into him. He sighed, then spent the better part of two minutes trying to decide whether it was worth it to get up and find the rock. He decided it wasn't. Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would almost certainly hear him waking and order him to make breakfast. This was about the last thing Harry wanted to do right now.

Though he had never actually been read any fairy tales as a young child (that he could remember) a thought came unprecedented to his mind. Something about a princess and a... grape, was it? Or maybe it was a pea. Yes, he decided, it was a pea. His third-grade teacher had mentioned this tale as an example of what little things can do once in science class. Harry wondered vaguely why he had even remembered that. As he became more and more conscious, the insides of his eyelids turned a lighter and lighter shade, until they became red.

They reminded him of blood. My, my. Aren't we morbid today? He thought to himself.

The last thing he remembered was... what had he been doing last? He was scheduled to leave for Hogwarts later today on the Hogwarts Express...

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in his hospital bed - his eyes flicking open. The train. The... creature. The new professor. Moony. Moony! How could he have forgotten what had happened? It was only one of the strangest things that had happened in his life. Well, he reconsidered, maybe that was a bit overboard - but one of them. Once he had gathered his thoughts, he realized something strange. There was no one in the hospital wing. No Madame Pomfrey. No arguing Ron and Hermione. He was curious about this revelation, though secretly glad. He wasn't sure what his friends would have to say about his interaction with the new professor. Who was most certainly not his Moony. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Harry leaned back into the many pillows stacked up behind him. They were comfortable. New? He wondered. He looked all around the infirmary. The walls were painted institutional white. Natural light streamed in through a domed, glass ceiling far above. He wondered how he'd missed this before. He was unsurprised to see that none of the other beds were filled.

Who else but me could manage to have to go to the hospital on the first day of school? he thought bitterly. It was surely some sort of record. Even Harry knew that he was purposely thinking of things other than the strange occurrence of his childhood dream-family. However, after about fifteen minutes, he gave up. There was simply nothing else interesting to think about. He had gone over his trunk check-list twice, making sure he'd brought everything from Privet Drive. He'd even stressed about whether or not he'd completed his summer homework well enough. It was then that he realized he not only wanted to think about his newfound memories of his "family," but he needed to think of them - even if they were a figment of his imagination.

So, he allowed himself to think - reviewing all his happy dreams of a family. Times of reading, playing... he even had a dim recollection of dreaming of a place much like Diagon Alley. He wondered for a second if he had some sort of fortunetelling ability. It was lucky he'd decided to take Divination. But the more he "watched" re-runs of old dreams, the more he became convinced that Professor Lupin was, indeed, Moony. And this, he knew, was dangerous. He could only imagine what the Daily Prophet would say if they learned he'd had a dream-family at a young age. Or that his uncle and aunt had been less-than-welcoming to him. Or even that he thought he'd recognized a man he'd never seen in his life. He would be firmly labeled "off-his-rocker".

He sat there silently, thinking peacefully for what must have been nearly an hour before he began to hear a pair of stomping footsteps ascending the stairwell towards the room. He shook himself out of his daydreams, not wanting whoever was coming up to see his surely vacant expression.

A few seconds later, a frazzled-looking Madame Pomfrey came through the door, slamming it behind her and briefly resting her weight against it. Harry raised an eyebrow, though she had not yet noticed he was awake. A second later, he realized why. Two other sets of footsteps came up the steps at running speed, one slamming into the door. A second later, two muffled voices came through.

"Let us in! We have the right-"

"-his friends! We just want so see-"

"-won't wake him up-"

Harry grinned in spite of himself. Those were certainly the voices of Ron and Hermione. A second later, he frowned in confusion as he heard several more footsteps come up the stairs quickly - though not as fast as his two best friends.

"Yeah! We-"

"-want to see him-"

"-too! Don't ignore us, lady-"

"-or we may just make a few-"

"-improvements to your-"

"-Hospital Wing!"

These were most unmistakably the raised voices of Fred and George Weasley. He was a bit surprised at their vehemence (he didn't actually know them that well) but touched all the same. He muffled his snorting laughter into his pillow as the Hospital matron shouted at the door.

"He needs rest! Not a band of bumbling buffoons who will do the opposite of helping him!" Harry, despite himself, was impressed at Madame Pomfrey's dedication to helping him. He did know her rather well though, he decided. He had probably been in the Hospital Wing more times than any other third-year and most likely many older students as well.

The pounding on the door halted, though no footsteps were heard going down the stairs. The healer huffed rather dramatically, running her fingers through her frizzy hair indignantly. Then, she noticed Harry was awake and looking extremely amused. She colored slightly when she realized he had heard her confrontation with his friends.

"Ahh. I see you're awake." She spoke quietly, which was probably a good move; as the three of the Weasley boys and Hermione were no doubt listening hard for any voices behind the doorway.

"Yeah," he replied politely. "I woke up about an hour ago. How long was I out?" To the smiling relief of Madame Pomfrey, he too spoke in a low voice, if only to prevent her getting a hemorrhoid.

"About three hours. You missed the feast." Harry sighed. He'd expected as much. "Are you achy? Tired? Hungry?" The matron continued, stepping up to his cot and placing her hand on his forehead before waving her wand absently over his body, which revealed several flashing colors. She summoned a slip of paper from a pile in her office, and the information appeared on it. She checked it, and frowned disapprovingly.

"Have you been eating proper meals?" She put her hand on his stomach - to Harry's surprise and discomfort - and glowered a him when she apparently could feel his ribcage. "Apparently not." She said with pursed lips. Indeed, Harry had eaten a total of what his cousin would eat in a week throughout the entire summer. Not that he'd wished to. Uncle Vernon had apparently gotten over his initial fear that Harry would pull out his wand and turn them into frogs and gone back to much of his original habits of before-Hogwarts time. She looked at the paper again, and just when she was about to walk back into her office, she did a double-take.

"HARRY POTTER, DID YOU GET INTO A FIGHT OVER THE SUMMER?" She realized her mistake a second later.

"Harry! You're awake!"

"Tell her to let us in!"

"We knew you'd-"

"-wake up soon!"

Madame Pomfrey hung her head in dismay, giving Harry a little bit of extra time to formulate a response. Over the summer, he had been washing dishes and dropped a plate. It had apparently been a gift from Marge. This earned him two days without food, and a minute as Vernon's punching bag. No doubt this was what she was seeing. Though his pre-Hogwarts days had involved many times like this, Harry hadn't been subjected to any physical violence from his uncle since the end of first year. His body was again unused to the treatment, and had reacted worse than he remembered.

Vernon had taken his anger out on him a total of three times over the summer. Once when he broke the dish in late June, once on his birthday (just to show he cared), and one last time when Dudley's grades had come home (all F's, with the exception of P.E, where he'd achieved a C) around the same time Harry had gotten his grades. He hadn't been worried about this, as he'd learned from Ron that wizards have a different grading system. However, he hadn't counted on Hogwarts doing the "service" of translating his grades into muggle ones. It had been the worst by far when Vernon had learned that Harry had achieved almost all A's, with a B in Potions. Harry shivered automatically.

"So?" Pomfrey said, her eyes narrowed. "Did you get into a fight? Your medical history for this last year clearly shows a slightly fractured — and untreated, may I add — left arm, severe bruising, several open cuts and a concussion!" She was ranting a bit by this point, but Harry's mind was whirling. I'd gotten all that? It didn't feel that bad...

Harry was about to answer a (surely feeble) excuse, when Hermione's voice shrieked through the wooden door.

"Wait a second, YOU GOT IN A FIGHT?" Harry winced. He'd no doubt have to give a reply to this question more than once.

"Yeah," he said quietly - resolving to tell his friends later. "Some older guys in my neighborhood... nothing to worry about, though." The healer stiffened indignantly.

"Nothing to worry about?" She hissed. "I've seen people healthier than this after falling out a window. This is no small issue, Mr. Potter! I will have to inform Headmaster Dumbledore about this..." Harry was sure she was continuing to speak, but inside he was wrapped up in his own frantic thoughts. She's going to tell Dumbledore? But he might guess... And what am I going to say I got in a fight about-

But his thoughts were rudely interrupted by the harsh hand of the menacing healer, who was shaking his shoulder to get his attention. He shied a bit away automatically, though it was so small she didn't even notice.

"So? What was this oh-so-unimportant fight about, dare I ask?" Her voice was scathing, though he knew she was worried for him. She was betrayed by her hand, which was twitching. He recognized this action from previous years.

"I - uhhh... I was mad that he took the last piece of cake?" She looked at him, deadpan. Harry could have swore he saw her eye twitch. He laughed nervously. "Okay, okay. He said that is was weird that I lived with my aunt and uncle. I'm very... protective of them." It took all Harry's long years of hiding his true feelings at Number 4, Privet Drive to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling up his throat as he told the outrageous lie. Madame Pomfrey's eyes softened considerably once she'd heard what she deemed to be a truthful answer.

"Aren't we all, dear?" She murmured, seemingly to herself as she gazed at him rather fondly. He shifted. Then, she straightened, getting back to business. "Well then. Since these wounds were never properly healed, you'll have to stay in the Hospital Wing until tomorrow night, most likely." Harry let out a cry of righteous outrage.

"What! But I feel fine!" She shook her head, almost delighting in his outcry.

"That's what you get for mixing up in a fight like that, Mr. Potter." Harry slumped down into his covers, glowering at the bump of his feet near the end of the bed. "You can join your schoolmates for classes the day after tomorrow." This sealed the deal. Everyone in Hogwarts knew that Madame Pomfrey never let anyone out sooner than she'd said. It was something she took personal pride in.

"Fine." He grumbled. He could hardly believe it! He didn't even want to imagine what Malfoy would say when he learned, much less Snape. It wasn't him who should be punished for getting beaten up. How was that fair?

He was broken out of his internal rant by the voice of the familiar healer saying, "If you drink your potions, I'll let Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger in." He straightened slightly. At least that's a slight improvement. He soon remembered Hermione's rather banshee like scream when she learned he'd been in a "fight." He shuddered. The girl was his best friend, of course, but she had a very sharp temper.

A few minutes later, he was brought a whole platter of potions - each in a varying array of disgusting colors. Do all healing potions look so horrible? He wondered idly as he looked, grimacing, at a vial of thick, bubbling-green liquid that seemed to have a life of it's own. He closed his eyes, a swigged it down - gagging. Apparently they don't just look horrible.

He had to take seven (yes, seven) more potions before the motherly nurse let his friends in. And come in, they did. While Harry had been distracted by the vast amounts of disgusting liquid he had been downing, a large percentage of the Gryffindor third-years, and a few scattered older and younger students and congregated outside the Wing. the motherly healer allowed his friends in. When she opened the door, they came flowing in, causing Pomfrey to exclaim:

"Really!" rather indignantly. Besides the people he'd known to be behind the door, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, Colin Creevy, and many others were now leaning over his sickbed, along with a few students from other Houses. There was a dreamy-eyed second year wearing what he thought were House-elf shaped earrings, and a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy with bronze hair whom several of the girls were blushing at. Including Hermione, he noticed with a slight frown.

"How are you, mate?" Ron said. It was rather unlike him to show "weak" emotions (worry, fear, etc) in the company of others, but this apparently was an exception.

"What happened?" Lavender Brown said in her rather squeaky voice, as Colin Creevy blinded them with his flashbulb as he documented Harry's sickbed. He sighed and explained. (Though he left out the part with Moony/Lupin, and what he was pretty sure was a scream.)

They all looked at him, wide eyed. "They're called Dementors," said the older, Hufflepuff boy whose name Harry now remembered to be Cedric-something. "The guards of Azkaban. I did hear rumors that they are here protecting the castle from Sirius Black." Many of the room's occupants shivered.

"Why did it get all cold?" Parvati asked quietly.

"That's what they do," Cedric said grimly. "They suck all the happiness out of people." There was silence in the room as the rest of the students drank this in. For the first time, Harry wondered why he had such a reaction to it while the others didn't. Somehow, he knew that no one else had fainted like he did. He was weak.

And, it was all his fault they were here. No. No, he reprimanded himself. It's Sirius frickin' Black's fault. But even as he thought the name, it once again felt... nice. Comforting, even. Not at all how a serial-killer's name should sound. He banished those thoughts. In an effort to start better conversation, he asked Hermione:

"So what's our schedule?" At once, he knew he'd made a mistake. Her eyes lit up, and she immediately began reciting their classes. After Tuesday (what would be his first day of school) he stopped listening. The next day's schedule was OK.

9:00 - Charms

10:30 - Potions

12:00 - Lunch

2:00 - Defense Against the Dark Arts

3:30 - Divination

It was a fairly good schedule for a Tuesday, he decided - if you ignored the Potions. He refrained from shivering at what he knew Snape's reaction to his absence the first day of school. He wondered idly if the man would manage to work the apparent incompetence of his father into the daily insult. He guessed so. He could already imagine the greasy-haired man's tall body looming over him vampiric-like. I mean, honestly. You would think he could afford to buy some shampoo, even with a teacher's salary.

When Hermione finally finished her speech, most of the people in the room had slipped away. Now, only he, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the second year girl with the strange earrings remained. He tried to be polite, but he couldn't help looking at her quizzically.

"Er- sorry, but I don't know your name." He said a bit uncomfortably. "I'm Harry." She smiled radiantly, a strand of wavy blonde hair falling in front of her eyes.

"My name is Luna Lovegood. It is nice to meet you, Harry Potter." He was a bit taken aback at her carefree, dreamy tone, but he automatically liked her.

"Nice to meet you too," he said. "If you don't know, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom." He gestured towards them individually as he spoke. She didn't speak, but nodded at them happily. Hermione, acting more herself that most of the crowd was gone, sat down on the foot of his bed — taking care not to sit on his feet. She acted as if she did so, he would explode into a million pieces. It wasn't a good feeling, he decided. It made him feel useless.

"So. Harry," she said quietly. "Are you OK, really?" Her voice was tender, and her chocolate brown eyes searched his, as if she thought she might find an answer there. Neville looked distinctly awkward now, most likely wondering if he should leave them to their group.

"I'm good, Hermione. Really." He smiled, and she blushed slightly, though she didn't seem to believe him. He told the almost-whole truth. He was just glad to be free of the Dursleys at last.

"If you say so," she said uncertainly. Ron, however, seemed much more accepting.

"Glad to hear it, mate. You had me really worried for a while there," said Ron. Neville nodded in agreement and spoke up.

"Yeah. Once you... Well, collapsed, Professor Lupin drove the Dementor away with a spell. He made some sort of glowing thing — an animal or something." Neville suddenly stopped, looking embarrassed that he'd spoken so much. His face flushed, and he shifted his position.

"Thanks for catching me up, Nevile," Harry said, grateful. "Did you notice any incantation he said? I want to learn how to do that." Hermione frowned in concentration, thinking back. But she came up empty.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm pretty sure he did it silently." Harry internally cursed.

"That's okay. Maybe I'll ask him later..." he trailed off, thinking again of the mysterious Lupin/Moony. Were they the same person? Was "Moony" even a person at all? If he was, were the rest of his dream-people real? Thousands of questions along the same lines flew through his head, each of them branching off into more and more unanswerable questions. He sighed. It's useless just to think about it.

They talked for a good half and hour before Madame Pomfrey bustled in, pushing them out none-too-gently. Harry sighed. It had been nice while it lasted. He lay back onto his pillow again, finding himself surprisingly tired for the lack of physical activity he'd had that day. He fell asleep within a minute, to the nurse's great satisfaction, not to mention future blackmail.

Headmaster's Office

Albus Dumbledore sat serenely at his desk, fingers steepled in a contemplative expression as an utterly confused Remus John Lupin paced back and forth in front of him. His electric blue eyes followed the man, who seemed to have gained a significant amount of grey hair in the last few hours.

"-even possible? He was one and a half years old when I saw him last! It's been proven that children don't have memories lasting longer than a year or so at that age! How could-" The aged Headmaster sighed. He, too, was intrigued and baffled by this turn of events. Unusually, he hadn't seen this one coming. And this was about the worst time it could happen — what with Mr. Black on the loose. He sighed again.

Every time he thought of that name, he couldn't help but call the mental picture of a handsome, 15-year-old youth sitting and laughing in front of him next to James Potter and occasionally Remus Lupin or Peter Pettigrew. His eyes closed for a second, mind flashing back a few years to the last time he'd seen the boy... no. Man. Shivering as he huddled in a concrete high-security cell, mumbling indecipherable sentences and phrases under his breath.

It would hurt Harry all the more when he learned (if he learned, he corrected himself) Black was his godfather if he actually remembered him. Mr. Lupin, it seemed, was of the same mind.

"-Dementor showed up! I hate to admit it, but Harry and my..." (he halted his train of thought for the first time in quite the number of minutes) "-encounter shook me up more than I'd like to admit." The werewolf stopped his quick rounds of Dumbledore's circular office, and looked directly at the Headmaster, begging eyes boring into him. "Is this really a good idea, Albus?"

He was talking, of course, of himself teaching the Defense position at Hogwarts this year. Unusually, it had been Dumbledore who had approached Lupin at his home instead of the other way around. He'd known, of course, that it would take a lot of encouraging on his part to get him to take the position. He sighed for what must have been the third time in the last minute or so. If only the man had not been bitten at such a young age, he would no doubt be Head of the MLE by now. It never ceased to sadden the old wizard how so many people put their prejudices before the person they actually met.

"Of course it is, Remus. You are the perfect man for the job." The man in question ran his spread fingers through his thick, tawny hair.

"That's not what I meant, you know it, Albus. I mean with this development with Harry and I. It may do him more harm than good for me to be around right now." Dumbledore cut him off sternly, looking down his nose at the man before him, who had by now collapsed into a plush gold chair.

"I still believe you should continue teaching this year. Harry himself has not made any comments about liking or disliking you as a teacher or other; and I don't think he will. In fact, I am inclined to believe he would be delighted to know you as a teacher or as a friend. He has been all too lacking of parental figures especially of late." Albus smiled sadly.

"Are you sure?" said Remus carefully. The Headmaster could hear the uncertainty, as well as the hopeful desperation in his voice. It was obvious that it had killed him to not have seen the boy all these years, and would be crushed if Dumbledore decided it was better for him not to teach.

"Irrevocably," Dumbledore replied, showing more certainty than he felt. There was silence for a second, each man mulling over similar thoughts. Remus was the first to speak.

"Is it okay for me to... pull him aside and speak to him about what happened on the Hogwarts Express?" Dumbledore was silent for a minute, thinking seriously. The amount of pros and cons for each side were enormous. Like they had discussed, it could hurt Harry even more if he were to remember Black (which he most likely did, as he remembered Remus) but it would be an enormous psychological and moral booster for him to know someone who was friends with his father and even to become friends with them, if things went the right way.

"I would say yes." Remus let out a whoosh of breath, sounding more surprised than happy or sad. "However, you are not to mention Sirius Black-" (Remus winced noticeably) "-other than as 'another friend.' Most certainly do not mention his actual name to Harry as a reference to him being James's friend. Other than that, I would encourage you to get to know him. I find him to be a very intriguing person." His eyes twinkled happily.

Remus now remained silent. He seemed to be taking a test of nerve on whether he could or could not do this. "But Albus, what about when Harry finds out about his parents' and his connection to Black? Wouldn't he feel... betrayed?" This question was rather obviously verging personal experience. Though he was trying not to show it, his face was slightly contorted with hurt and sadness. Dumbledore's eyes dimmed, ceasing their twinkling as he looked sorrowfully at the downcast man.

"If you truly give him a good reason, I'm sure Harry will understand. As you don't know him all that well yet, you wouldn't know, but Harry is an extremely forgiving person. If you really become a good friend to him, he will most definitely hear you out."

The Hospital Wing

"For the last time, I feel fine!" It wasn't often that Harry raised his voice, but when he did he was a force to be reckoned with. Even sitting vulnerably in the sterilely white bed sheets of the Hospital Wing, he managed to look ferocious. Madame Pomfrey glared at him disapprovingly.

"No, Mr. Potter, you are not. You are still recovering from a broken-" But the boy pressed on.

"Yeah, yeah... I know. A bunch of broken bones and bruises. Big whoop." The healer looked taken aback for a second, then returned his glare with equal fervor. Luna watched the two with curious amusement, her misty gray eyes flicking back and forth as if watching a particularly good tennis match. The healer puffed up with indignant pride.

"Mr. Potter! In all my years-" but her voice spluttered out slightly. She looked sad for a second, as if remembering someone else. Then her righteous anger returned with a vengeance. "All right, almost all my years, I have never had a patient so unwilling to be healed as you!" Harry opened his mouth to return with another scathing comment, when the Infirmary door entered and in walked Ron and Hermione.

"Hey Harry, Luna." Hermione said politely. Ron nodded largely.

"Arrgwumph foo fesh 'oo" Harry stared at the red-haired boy uncomprehendingly. Hermione wheeled around on him, glaring full force.

"Ron!" she hissed. "At least try to have some manners, would you?" Ron's color rose (though if it was embarrassment or anger Harry could not tell) and he attempted to retort, but all that came out were a few muffled croaking noises. Hermione sighed, realizing it was a lost cause, and whipped around, the tips of her hair whipping Ron's shoulder.

Luna looked highly amused. "I see Ronald has been cursed by the Hoogum Woogums." She nodded sagely, though the rest of the room (excepting Madame Pomfrey, who was tending to a second-year Hufflepuff who had gotten sick from eating too much at the feast) was uncomprehending. "They cause one's mouth to be unable to speak. Nasty little creatures, though deceptively beautiful. Father used to have one as a pet when he was my age, did you know? He found it quite useful for when his mother was lecturing him." Harry and Ron snorted laughter, and Hermione giggled. Though she soon stopped when a piece of Ron's previously-chewed toast landed on her shoulder.

"That's... interesting, Luna," Harry said, smiling. Luna did not take this as an insult, though others might have meant it as one. "Do you have any pets at home like that?" She nodded vigorously.

"Oh, loads!" She replied. "Father and I petitioned Professor Flitwick and Professor Dumbledore to let me bring my Unifraum to school, but they insisted that I was only allowed an owl, rat, cat, or toad." She looked saddened. Harry couldn't help himself.

"What exactly is a Unifraum, Luna?" He asked with slight apprehension.

"Oh, they're marvelous creatures. They have an orange body with white dots on their wings. They bring good luck to their owners, too. One day when I was talking Nark for a walk, I found a new patch of Uuldolphus Mushrooms. They are very rare, you know." She nodded in accent to her own comment, then frowned slightly. "I had hoped to bring him to school so I would make friends." Ron shifted at this, not sure what to say. Harry found himself sympathizing with Luna. He knew from his experiences at Stonewall Elementary what it was like not to have friends. All the nice students were too frightened of Dudley to even speak to him, normally.

For lack of knowledge of what to say, Harry asked: "Is Nark your Unifraum's name?"

"Yes." She didn't add any more information than that, and there was a rather terse silence for a minute or so, broken only by the resounding sound of Madame Pomfrey's clacking footsteps as she hurried from bed to bed.

"Well, we have to go now, Harry." Ron said, finally having finished his massive bite. "We've got Transfiguration next, and from what I've heard McGonagall's in a bad mood since her Fifth year class first period with Fred and George. Something about toilet paper, from what I've heard." Harry chuckled a bit regretfully. He really was sad that he was missing his first day of third year.

"Hey, don't be to disappointed, Harry." Hermione comforted, patting his calf, as unrecognizable as it was under the numerous quilts the motherly healer had placed over him. "All you're really missing is the teacher's introductory speeches. I can lend you my notes tomorrow." Harry mumbled thanks, though he was personally rather daunted by the idea of having to look through all of Hermione's notes — even if they were only for one day.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," Luna said in her usually dreamy voice as she skipped out of the doorway and down the steps, the sounds of her light footsteps following her and eventually fading.

"We'll come and visit first thing after classes end." Ron promised.

"Thanks, guys." He said a bit sadly. Hermione looked hesitant to leave with him still looking a bit depressed, but looked nervous at the prospect at being late to her first Transfiguration class that year.

"We really will come, Harry." She said, nodding. "Right after History." And with that, they exited, Hermione giving a slight wave as she left the room.

Harry sighed. It really is insanely boring in here, he thought. He lay back again on his pillows, and counted the small panes of glass on the domed roof. Ten minutes later, he had counted and re-counted - making him sure there were exactly 347 tiles. He idly wondered how many bored and annoyed students had counted those same windowpanes. For lack of other things to do, he picked up one of the non-assigned books he had bought from Flourish and Blotts. He hadn't told either Ron or Hermione this, but ever since last year's (meagre) dueling display, he had been intrigued by the unusual art. The text he was currently reading was titled: "100 Need-to-Know Spells for the Beginning Dueler."

He flipped through it interestedly, finally stopping on the Impedimenta Spell. He looked at the moving picture of a purple beam of light hitting a wizard, and said wizard becoming tantalizingly slow; giving the opposing dueler the match. His eyes traveled down to the paragraph on it below. It read:

"The Impedimenta enchantment is an extremely useful spell to have in ones' arsenal, and very easy to learn. When the spell is cast, it caused the receiver to slow down, reaching a maximum speed of one inch per three seconds. The incantation is, "Impedimenta," and while it is easy to block with the basic shield charm (see pages 179-182) it is an excellent distraction spell in addition to allowing the caster a moment to think, or to land the knock-out blow. The charm sends a beam of light purple light which, depending on the strength of the spell, can be from one centimeter thick, to an inch. When fired with minimal exertion, it gives off the thinner beam, which may cause the spelled person only to stumble. However, when sent with full force and determination, it can lock someone in place for up to three hours if left without the counter curse; the basic Finite spell.

Harry followed the instructions, moving his wand in a twirling motion and saying the spell as time went by. At first, he had little luck (his first try, nothing at all happened) but as he progressed, the beam shooting from his wand became thicker and thicker, eventually reaching almost an inch thick. This was about a half and hour after reading the paragraph. Harry felt very accomplished, and he ran his fingers through his hair in success, ruffling it.

A small sigh came from the doorway. Harry's head snapped up, his fingers automatically clenching around his wand - ready to hex whoever had managed to come in without making a sound. Then, he stopped short.

There, in front of him, stood Moony.


	3. Truth

**A/N: Wow I'm really going through these chapter quickly.. hopefully my muse stays inspired! So, without further delay, here's chapter three**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. "Anything," interestingly enough, encompasses "Harry Potter."**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

Harry's heart thudded noisily against his chest, the sound of it startling him even further. Moony, or Professor Lupin (he really had to decide which name he was going to call him) was standing right there. Not twenty feet from him. Harry blinked, his confused ideas not making themselves clear on his face.

Lupin seemed to take the hint that he was going to have to be the first to speak. He cleared his throat, again making the gesture where he cracked then rubbed the side of his neck. The one Harry recognized from his dream-memories of his uncle Moony.

"Err-" the man began unsurely. He shifted, seemingly wanting to approach the boy in the bed, but unsure how best to do so while still being polite. "I don't think I rightly introduced myself after our... encounter, Harry." He said this rather fast, as if he was scared he would chicken out if he slowed to normal speed. "My name is Remus Lupin, and I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor here at Hogwarts."

Harry was still staring at the man in complete shock, barely registering his words. The professor shifted under Harry's blatant staring.

"Oh!" The third year said then, realizing it was his turn to speak. "I'm Harry Potter... but you already knew that, didn't you?" It was more of a hypothetical question, really. What witch or wizard in London, heck, all of Europe didn't know Harry Potter and his famous scar?

"Yes," Lupin agreed, smiling reminiscently. "You are." Again, he looked at Harry in a way as if were remembering some distant and slightly painful memory. His eyes clouded, and for a second it looked as if he were relishing the flashback - but he immediately gained a sour look on his face. As if something (or someone) had ruined it. Harry wondered who or what it was.

"Sooo..." Harry said weakly, unsure what he wanted to speak to him about. This seemed to break the man out of his trance. He straightened, and gained a rehearsed look about him.

"Ah yes." He began. "I wanted to talk to you about the incident on the Hogwarts Express, and to talk to you a bit about more-" he faltered a bit here. "-personal matters, you might say." Harry furrowed his brow. _Personal matters? This only makes it more confusing... what would a professor who I've never seen before - except possibly in a dream - have to talk about with me in a personal way? Unless... _his mind couldn't help but wander back to his old suspicions. _Unless he really _is_ uncle Moony._

"Uh, okay." Harry answered after a second, still confused about the enigma of Lupin/Moony. "So I also wanted to apologize for... well. Fainting on the train." He looked down at his feet ashamedly, reminded once again that he was the only one who had collapsed. _I'm weak. _As if sensing his thoughts somehow, the professor was by his side in a flash - sitting rather stiffly on a hard-backed, wooden chair Madame Pomfrey had placed there for any visitors he got.

"Those were called Dementors, Harry. The others didn't collapse like you did because... because, well, they haven't seen the really horrible things you have. Their worst memories include a spider in their bed sheets, or a time they got lost at Diagon Alley when they were little. Yours, on the other hand, are indefinitely worse than that." Harry relaxed, leaning further back onto his pillows.

That, he guessed, explained it. Though he was not self-important, he did know for certain that he had gone through more hardship and sadness than many do in their entire lives. _I really do like the Professor, whether he ends up to be Moony or not_. He decided. That decision released a weight on his chest - making him feel less (though not entirely) guilty.

There was silence for a good while, each wondering how they were going to breach the subject they were both wondering about; the incident with the train and the dementors. _And Moony_. Lupin shifted a bit on the end of Harry's bed, playing with the end of his covers. A few times, he opened his mouth as if to begin to speak, but chickened out - deciding to hold the silence instead. Finally, Harry couldn't stand it any longer.

"So, are we going to talk about the train thing, or not?" He asked, trying to be confident. The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he'd worded them differently. This way, they sounded too... pushy, or forceful. "Sorry!" He apologized quickly, cringing back into his bed a little bit. Lupin looked taken aback - unsure how to deal with or even understand this new part of Harry's personality.

"There's no reason to apologize," he said, after recovering from his surprise. "You made a good point. I think we both want to ask some questions about that." Harry hesitated for a second before nodding. He most certainly agreed with the man. An explanation was needed, and badly. However, his confidence seemed to have been lessened, and so he waited for the professor to begin instead of starting himself.

The professor in question looked like he was battling himself or trying to decide what to say. Finally, he blurted out, "I think it's best if I tell you right now that I was good friends with your father." He said this all very fast, and Harry almost didn't catch it. And even then, it took him a good ten seconds to comprehend it.

"Wha-what?" He stuttered, completely shocked.

"I was good, no, great friends with your father - James Potter. In fact, he was one of my thre-" he hesitated a bit here, "I mean, two best friends." Though Harry - being a very observant person - had seen the man's hesitation, he didn't comment. His brain was still catching up.

"Really?" He managed to say, still unsure if this were some cruel joke. Lupin nodded, smiling reminiscently.

"Yes." He replied. "In fact, the time we were in school together was without a doubt the best time of my life; perhaps excepting when your mother gave birth to you." Harry was completely flabbergasted. _Me being born was one of the best moments of someone's life? _This fact seemed so distant and impossible to him. Why would anyone care so much about him?

Before he could stop himself, he began to let loose a torrent of questions he had been pondering on his entire life.

"What were my parents like? Did they look like me? Where did they live? How old were they when I was born? Were they nice? Who is-" Harry could have probably continued on for a good ten minutes, but he stopped when Lupin let out a hearty, amused laugh. His laugh was deep, and sounded (to Harry) like an echo.

"One question at a time, Prongslet." He said amusedly. Harry furrowed his brow. _Prongslet_?

"Prongslet?" He asked curiously, tilting his head a bit to the right. "Where did that come from?" Lupin blushed slightly, and looked a bit embarrassed at what he had called him.

"Oh! Sorry," he apologized quickly. "That's just something your father, his other two best friends and I used to call you when you were a baby..." he trailed off, looking reminiscently into the distance. Harry was quiet for a bit, letting the man stew in his thoughts before he could stand it no longer.

"So, why 'Prongslet'?" He asked. Lupin looked startled, as if he had somehow expected Harry to know the answer to this one.

"Sorry." Harry said quickly, not wanting to get into trouble. "I should have-" But the professor once again cut him off.

"No, it's fine, Harry. For a moment there, I forgot you didn't know about..." he once again stopped, this time looking more scared. "Never mind. Anyways, while we were in school, each of our little group had a nickname, you see." Harry forgot the man's previous frightened attitude immediately at any sign of parental information.

"Really?" He asked, though he immediately felt stupid for saying it. If he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have said it. Not everyone lies all the time. Just my family. "Sorry." He once again said.

"You know, you don't need to say 'sorry' all the time. There's nothing to be sorry for," Lupin reprimanded slightly sternly.

"Sor-" Harry stopped in the middle of apologizing, and looked down at his hands, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Though Harry could tell the professor was holding in a laugh, he was merciful and just continued the story without commenting on Harry's mess up.

"Anyways. Nicknames. Your father, James Potter, was nicknamed Prongs. I was Moony, and Peter was Wormtail." Harry's heart nearly stopped. _Moony? MOONY!?! _He didn't see how this could be possible. He was a dream. They were ALL dreams. He tried to calm himself. Technically, it could just be a huge coincidence... plus, that would explain why the man had reacted to violently when he'd whispered, "Moony" on the train. He'd thought he was talking about him, not his Moony! Harry drank this in, then paused - puzzled. But then, who was Paddy?

"Hey, I thought you said my dad had three best friends? What about the third?" He asked. Lupin's lips tightened.

"Oh, him." He said in a tone that implied he didn't like to think about him. Harry wondered if they had some sort of feud, or falling out in school. Maybe they had never liked each other in the first place. "He was only your dad's friend for a while. He didn't have a nickname."

_I guess he's not Uncle Moony, then. If Uncle Moony was real and alive, then he would tell me about Paddy_. Harry's heart felt like someone had shoved a rock into it. He had wanted the professor to be his Moony so much... and he seems so nice!

"What about my mum?" He asked, trying to change the subject from such a painful one. The professor's eyes brightened at the new question.

"Lily Potter." He said, smiling again. "Maiden name: Evans. An amazing witch. Did you know that she hated your father with a vengeance up until seventh year?" Harry gasped, and Lupin chuckled at his response. "Yes, it's true - you can ask McGonagall if you really want to know. Lily and James were some of her favorite students, I believe."

Harry wasn't sure how to take in the fact that McGonagall had known his parents. Even that she liked them. _Why hadn't she told me anything about them?_ He felt a stab of self-pity, then dismissed it. _She has better things to do than to talk to him about dead people._

"Why did she hate him?" Harry asked.

"Oh, your father was the leader of a legendary prank group called, 'The Marauders.' I don't think she really hated James specifically, but she hated all prankers with a fierce passion ever since first year when someone two years above us charmed her so her hair was green for months." Harry snorted with laughter, but immediately felt bad at laughing at his mother - and stopped.

Harry's laughter, however, seemed to bring out a more... mischievous side of the professor. His eyes glinted, and if Harry didn't know better, he would've thought it was Fred or George who was making that face.

"So... you like pranks, huh?" He asked in a faux-casual voice.

"More than normal, definitely." Harry replied truthfully. "But I've only played a few small ones." This was a bit hard for him to admit (he would have liked to say that he had a large pranking history like his father apparently had.) This didn't make Lupin's wolfish grin disappear at all, though.

"Ever played one in the magical world?" He asked. Harry blinked.

"No, I don't think so. Well, unless you count that time when I charmed all the Ravenclaw's pens to make them have bad spelling..." Harry snickered at the memory. For some reason, however, Snape had been sure he'd done it and had given his a month's worth of detentions. Or would have, if his Head of House hadn't stepped it.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor laughed. "We did something like that, once. Except we spelled the Hufflepuffs, and we made them have bad handwriting for a week!" Harry laughed. Maybe the whole "Moony vs. Dream-Moony" was nothing, after all. Maybe he'd been tricking himself... this person really did act and look like his Moony.

He was silent for a few seconds, thinking about that subject again. Then, he looked up and saw Lupin looking at him quizzicly.

"Something wrong, Prongslet?" He asked, then started as if realizing something. "You don't mind if I call you that when we're not in public, right?" Harry got the feeling that if he said no, his and Lupin's friendship would take an uncomfortable turn. Plus, he really did like being called a pet-name like that. It made him feel like a part of a real family.

Sure, he loved the Weasleys, but they were so... complete. They didn't need another child to take care of, and he most certainly didn't see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as parent-figures. More like... your favorite Aunt and Uncle.

"No, I like it," Harry admitted a bit shyly. Lupin smiled in relief, and began to speak again - though he had lost a bit of his previous mischievous look.

"So. Would you be willing to take lessons from a master?" For a second, Harry was confused. _Lessons on what?_ He thought back to what they'd been talking about before the professor had asked him if it was OK to call him Prongslet. Unknown third-friend, mum info, Marauders... pranks!

"Lessons on pranks?" He clarified, feeling excitement bubbling up in his chest.

"Yeah," the man said, looking for all the world an excited schoolboy. Then, he seemed to remember that he was indeed a teacher, and he sobered, looking a bit stern. "I'd have a few rules, though." Harry nodded immediately. Even a few rules were worth getting prank lessons. From an (apparently) legendary prankster, no less!

"Sure!" He agreed a second later.

"Okay." Lupin seemed to contemplate what he should have as rules. About five seconds later, he had apparently come up with a list, so he began. "Rule number one: no dangerous pranks."

"Of course," Harry said right away, confused that he should have to point this out. "Wait... what's your definition of 'dangerous?'" The amber-eyed man smirked.

"Unlike what I should be telling you, 'dangerous' to me doesn't encompass much. Pretty much, don't play any pranks that could go very wrong, or that end up with someone getting hurt." Harry nodded. This wouldn't be hard.

"Number two. No targeting all your pranks at the Slytherins, or at Malfoy." Harry started to protest, but the Professor Lupin cut him off with a shake of the head. "Sure, you can prank Slytherins, too, but not all on them. Don't forget about the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even pranking Gryffindor once and a while. Don't play favorites, and leave the lions alone when you do all-school pranks, either."

Harry nodded, slightly sullenly. "What else?" He asked, significantly put out.

"Harry." Lupin reprimanded. "How are you different from Malfoy if you just prank one person or group? Isn't that just bullying?" Harry almost immediately began to say, 'No!' rather vehemently when he realized he was right. It was bullying. He felt ashamed. How could he even think of doing something like that when he'd be just like Dudley or Malfoy? The thought made him shudder.

"Yes, sir."

"No need to call me sir, Harry. You can call me Remus, or even Moony if you want to." He looked hopeful that Harry would choose to call him by his Marauder nickname, but Harry felt uncomfortable calling anyone else than his dream-uncle that. It would just be strange.

"Sure, Remus." He smiled, though he did look a bit disappointed. Harry had to try hard not to apologize.

"Good. Anyways, rules." Lup- _Remus_ re-begun. "Ummm... let's see. Oh! Always remember, make your pranks recognizable as your pranking style, but don't leave any evidence that makes it obvious that it's yours. That way, teachers aren't allowed to give you detention or take points." Harry nodded, feeling as if he should be taking notes.

"Got it." He said in affirmative. "Anything else?" Remus thought for a few seconds, but then said:

"No, or at least none that I can think of now." The man paused, looking unsure. He bit his lip, as if trying to decide something. "Harry-" he began slowly, "-we never really did talk about the train." Once again, Harry's heart skittered through his chest. (Metaphorically, of course.) _How will I explain that I don't actually remember him - just a dream that looks like him, and has his name? Won't that hurt his feelings?_ Harry gulped. How was he going to do this?

"I... I-" He tried to begin, but his throat was suddenly dry. It would seem so... final to say that the Moony he was talking about wasn't him. As if it would dismiss the (now nearly impossible) hope that he was, in fact, his dream-uncle.

"It's fine, Harry, you can tell me anything." Remus was exceedingly gentle in his tone of voice, and for the first time, he scooted up and touched Harry's arm comfortingly.

"I- just thought you were someone else." He finished lamely. Remus raised an eyebrow, looking cynical.

"Is that so? Exactly how many 'Moony's do you know?" He was joking here, though Harry could hear the undertone of hurt in his voice. Harry bit his lip. He really did want this Moony to be his dream-Moony... but how would that be possible? Dream-Moony was exactly that. A dream, no matter how much he wished he wasn't.

_But_... Harry couldn't help but wonder, _is he a dream? Could it be possible that those things actually happened? But no, how could they? I was at the Dursleys. They could be memories... but Remus didn't mention Paddy. And Paddy was just as real as dream-Moony - who I'm not even sure is real at all... This is so confusing._

Finally, Harry decided it was best to tell the truth. He took a deep breath, and dove in.

......o0O0o......

It had taken a good thirty minutes to tell the story of dream-Moony (excepting, of course, the part about him living in a cupboard and his uncle occasionally punching him) and his confusion about Remus/Moony himself. It felt indescribably good to be able to tell someone about this after having kept it holed up inside him for so long.

"... that's why I'm unsure about calling you Moony, and why the thing with the train happened and all of that." When he finally finished explaining and answering Remus's various questions (he'd been rather suspicious about Harry's level of discomfort when talking about his relatives,) he almost wished there was still more to explain. Even talking like that was better than just sitting there with Remus looking at him like he was now.

The professor in question was staring at him unashamedly; his eyes filled with confusion, amazement, relief, and - strangely - fear. For a good minute or so, they just sat there looking at each other in a sort of staring contest. Finally, Remus spoke.

"Harry..." he began unsurely, but almost excitedly, "-I'm frankly not sure if this is what you wanted to hear, but I think that those dreams of yours - with your 'Uncle Moony' and parents are, indeed, memories of your first year and a half when you really did live with them." For what seemed like the millionth time that day, Harry's stomach dropped somewhere into China.

The Boy-Who-Lived was completely unable to think of how to respond to this. This was what he'd wanted. Exactly what he'd wanted, in fact, and what he still did want. But he didn't know if he should believe Remus/Moony. There were a few gaping holes in his story - no matter how much he wanted to believe it. Steeling himself for learning that the professor was doing this just to cheer him up out of his medicated state, Harry asked the first (and most noticeable) question.

"Remus, if that's true, what about Uncle Paddy? I'm not stupid. You didn't mention him during your explanation of the Marauders, or anything." Remus winced, pain flooding into his eyes - along with anger. His eyes narrowed, and though Harry could tell his anger wasn't directed at him, he winced back into his pillows as if he was going to be struck.

"Don't call him uncle." Remus finally said hoarsely. "Just... don't."

"Why should I do what you say if you just evade my questions like that?!"

"You wouldn't believe me!" They were yelling now, though each looked more hurt and scared than angry. "And you don't want to know what happened to 'Paddy'" He spat out the name 'Paddy' like it was poison. Harry jerked back, narrowing his eyes.

"So there is a Paddy!" Suddenly, Remus's anger dripped away, leaving him an empty shell. His shoulders drooped, and for the first time since he had entered the hospital room, Harry once again noticed the dark bags and gray hairs he had noticed so quickly in the train car.

"Yes. There _was_ a Paddy, once. But he's long gone." _Dead?_ He wondered. How Remus had said it implied that he wasn't dead... just gone. Harry was hesitant to ask the inevitable question his answer raised because of the pain it seemed to cause the professor. They sat for a good three minutes in silence, just sitting, before Harry decided he had to ask.

"Remus?" Remus turned to him tiredly with an expression that asked, 'Yes?' "What-what happened to P-Paddy? And who was he?" Remus sighed, looking up at the sky through the domed glass above them.

Harry wanted so much for him to say, 'Paddy is totally fine! I've just been kidding you, c'mon, you can live at my place now - no more Dursleys!' But that was pretty much a fantasy. Whoever Paddy was or is, Harry knew it wasn't going to make him feel better. Not at all.

"Padfoot... or Paddy as you seem to know him," he paused, trying to figure out how to form his words. "He betrayed us. The Marauders, that is." Harry cocked his head. _Betrayed them? But surely he wouldn't have... he was so nice!_ And now he knew that Moony was really his Uncle dream-Moony!

"B-betrayed? How so?" Harry asked in a quivering voice, afraid to hear the answer. Remus/Moony sighed exhaustedly, staring at Harry beseechingly, as if asking for Harry to drop the idea all together. But Harry shook his head firmly._ I need to know._ He thought.

"Padfoot, or Sirius Black, is... the reason for your parent's death, Harry." And Harry's heart broke.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it's a bit short (3,896 words) but I thought that this was the right place to end. **

**Okay, I need your input on something: How long should I make this story? I would put it in a poll, but I already have one going. 'Kay, so just PM me, or review. **

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**~AQUAHINA**


	4. Class

**A/N: Here's your fourth chappie for 'ya, folks. Sorry it took so long... I'm just reaching the climax of my other HP story ("Just My Luck") so I'm kinda involved with it now. Not to mention my new play with a local theatre, "The River Why." **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. *Insert funny story about J.K Rowling attacking me here after my attempt to steal HP***

_Chapter Four_

Paddy (or Padfoot, apparently) was responsible for his parent's deaths? The idea just didn't sink in right away. _But... Paddy wouldn't do that, would he?_ Harry asked himself in vain, as if hoping his consciousness would answer and deny it. But, predictably, no such inner voice appeared. Remus, seeing his distress but deciding it would be best to first finish the story before consoling the shocked boy, continued speaking.

"When we learned that Voldemort was planning to attack your home, your parents - James and Lily Potter - decided to go into hiding." Harry drank this in, listening hard despite his emotional distress. "Now, they didn't just move; that wouldn't have done anything. This is Voldemort we're talking about here. They hid themselves using the Fidilius Charm - a complex charm which magically holds a secret to one person and one person only. This person is called a secret keeper." Harry had a bad feeling about this.

"S-secret keeper?" He echoed with dread. Remus nodded solemnly, and began to speak with a cracked, pained voice.

"Lily and J-James," he stuttered over his old friend's name, "-chose their best friend; Sirius Black, or Padfoot." Remus narrowed his eyes a bit, and Harry got the feeling that there was more to the story in this place. Why hadn't they chosen Remus to be secret keeper? "This was a mistake."

If it hadn't been such a big revelation into Harry's past, and a sentimental moment besides that Harry may have been tempted to make a sarcastic comment.

"Sirius Black," Remus spat the name bitterly, "-received his place as secret keeper, and no less than two days later gave it to Voldemort." Tears began to form in Harry's eyes, but he managed to hold back the salty water. At least for now.

"Are... are you sure it was him? What if they changed-" Harry began desperately, trying to find a possible crack in the story.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but Sirius really did betray us. He was found a few hours after your parent's deaths about fifty miles to the north - laughing in front of the decimated remains of our other friend, Peter Pettigrew." Harry couldn't help it. He dissolved into tears, automatically scrunching up into a fetal position. Remus/Moony clamped his hand reassuringly on Harry's shoulder, but when he did so Harry jerked violently inward.

"No! Stop!" He cried, taken for a moment to another place in the past. "Please!" Remus immediately drew his hand away, and Harry realized what he'd done. "I'm sorry!" He apologized fervently. "I didn't mean... I mean, I thought-" Harry broke off, unable to finish the sentence without admitting that he was weak enough to be bullied by a muggle. Muggles, _plural_, actually.

"Harry?" Remus asked confusedly. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Harry shook his head, slipping down under his covers so only his huge, terrified eyes were visible.

"No..." Harry answered weakly. "I just don't... like to be touched." He admitted, then winced as if expecting a blow. Remus looked confused and worried.

"Why not?" He asked, hand twitching for a second towards him as if to comfort him - then thinking better of it. Harry shook his head mutely. He wasn't allowed to tell - that would just get him in even more trouble during the summer. "Harry?" Remus said again, fear seeping into his voice.

"Did someone... hit you?" Harry's heart jolted.

"NO!" He yelled loudly, causing the man leaning over his sickbed to jump backwards, holding his ears in pain - as though Harry's voice had somehow hurt him. "Professor, are you okay?" He asked.

"Fine, Harry, fine. I just have... sensitive hearing." Harry had the feeling that it was bigger than that. There was silence, and Harry hoped with all his heart that Remus had forgotten what they had been talking about before. Then,

"Harry?" The man said softly. Harry stared at him in fear.

"Y-yeah?" He answered.

"Did someone..." Remus trailed off. "Are you..." Again, he couldn't seem to finish his sentence. Then, he took a deep breath - working up his courage, and spoke. "Did someone hurt you, Harry? I won't be mad at you if it's true."

"N-n-n-no." Harry answered in his most quavering voice yet. He couldn't believe himself - these were not the words of a Gryffindor! Real Gryffindors were brave, and strong. These were qualities he most certainly didn't have. His shoulders slumped at the thought of disgracing his House. Maybe the Sorting Hat had been right - would he have been better off in Slytherin?

Remus looked very unconvinced and guilty. The professor opened his mouth as if to ask again, and then shut it with an audible, "Clack!" when he realized pestering Harry would most likely just drive him away.

"We'll continue this conversation later, Harry." He said curtly. Harry's heart sank; he'd hoped to just avoid the conversation altogether.

"Sure," he agreed unhappily.

"Anyways, about _Sirius Black_." Not for the first time, Harry noticed the level of pure disdain with which Remus said the name. "You don't have to worry about him, Harry." Harry was confused.

"Why would I worry about him? He's nowhere near here, right?" Remus looked trapped, seemingly realizing that he had said too much.

"You're right, there's no need to worry." Remus said with a forced smile. "Now! Who's hungry?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Changing the subject much?" He asked sarcastically. Remus drooped, though his mouth twitched at Harry's attitude.

"Can we talk about this some other time?" He begged. Harry looked at him for a long moment, then gave a sigh.

"Sure, sure..." he said. _It looks like we have a lot to talk about 'some other time.' _There was silence for a while as they sat rather uncomfortable, trying to figure out what to talk about. Suddenly, Harry began to get an evil gleam in his eye. This affect was only enhanced by the brilliant green color and lighting.

"Moony..." he began, and Remus beamed at the nickname. "So when exactly are you going to begin these 'pranking lessons' of yours?" Remus grinned. _Snape's going to be mad..._ were both of their last thoughts before they began.

...o0O0o...

"I believe you're fit to leave the Infirmary now, Mr. Potter." Madame Pomfrey had finally admitted, though it looked as if it gave her physical pain to say it. "Your mental state after the Dementor attack has done nothing but improve, and your fight injuries," (she glared at Harry) "-have been healed." Harry's eye twitched. _Mental state? Improved? Does that mean that it was bad to begin with?_

"Thanks," he said, not wanting to submit himself to more hospital time. Madame Pomfrey looked pleased, though she huffed as she began her next sentence.

"I just cannot believe Headmaster Dumbledore would let those... those..." she stuttered angrily for an apt word, "-those creatures into Hogwarts grounds. Colds, depression, feinting spells... and that's only the beginning!" Harry shifted uncomfortably at her mention of 'feinting spells.'

"Yeah." He agreed weakly, not sure how to answer and keep on safe grounds. "But... can I leave now, please?" She pursed her lips for an extra second, then seemed to give up on trying to find some reason to keep him there.

"Oh, all right." She said with a sigh that implied that Harry should feel sorry for her. "But I don't expect to see you here any time soon, you hear? Keep out of trouble, for once in your life!" By that time, Harry was standing, and she accentuated her words with a poke in the chest. Harry nodded accent, unsure what would happen if he did otherwise.

Harry stood there for a second, unsure if was allowed to leave. She heaved a great, dramatic sigh. "Well, off with you! I have a case of stomach flu and a cold already..." but Harry heard no more as he was already out the door and on his way down the stone steps towards the Charms classroom.

He reached the door at exactly 8:45, and it was then that he realized that he was early. He blinked. This was the first time he'd been over four or so minutes early to a class. Harry wondered idly if that was a bad sign, and decided to take his studies a bit more seriously this year.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, the epitome of surprise. "What are you doing here so early?" He tried in vain to step in a dignified manner from the teetering pile of thick volumes he was perched upon - but failed miserably and caused several to topple off. "Class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes or so. Did you want to speak to me about something?" The man sounded genuinely curious, and Harry couldn't help but feel bad that he would disappoint him by his lack of questions.

"Sorry, sir, I don't have any questions." He looked disappointed.

"Well, all right then, Mr. Potter. In that case, you can just wait for the class to start, or leave until then." He went back to his notes, then seemed to remember something. "By the way, how are you feeling? I heard of your rather unfortunate collapse on the train - very lucky that Professor Lupin was there... no?" Harry nodded stiffly. He'd been hoping that everyone would just forget the incident, but if even teachers were bringing it up he didn't doubt that the whole school had heard and would question him. He withheld a long-suffering sigh.

"Yes, it is," he agreed. And to some extent, he did agree. He was glad Remus had been there, but not because of the Dementors. Harry couldn't hold back a small, secretive smile as he remembered the professor's admittance that he had, indeed, known his father and that he was Moony. Even if it was tainted by the revelation of 'Murderer-of-parents/Sirius Black = Padfoot.'

Harry sighed, and began to doodle idly on a scrap of parchment as he waited for class to begin. He wanted badly to see Ron and Hermione, but he wanted even more badly just to be left alone by the general populace of Hogwarts; hence staying in the nearly empty classroom.

Time passed very slowly. A glance at the clock told Harry that class was due to start in ten minutes. Had he really only been sitting here for five? It seemed as if it had been an hour, at least. If had just gotten out of anywhere else except the Hospital wing, he would've been out of that classroom like a flash. However, he just wasn't up to rebutting Malfoy's taunts right now. Oh, he had no doubt he would have to at some point, but now was not the time.

Finally, after what seemed like years of waiting, students began to trickle in, all of them looking at Harry or sometimes (if they were Gryffindor students) asking him how he was feeling. Each time someone would ask him, it made him feel worse. Did everyone know that he'd spent the night at the Hospital wing? Harry sighed. He was kidding himself. Of course everyone knew he'd been inside the hospital wing. He was Harry frickin' Potter. His business was everyone's business.

"Harry!" Harry heard Hermione squeal in happiness. He started to turn around, but before he could, he was enveloped in a mass of warm body-heat, and wavy brown hair. Warmth crept over his cheeks, and he smiled. "I was so worried! Are you feeling better? Madame Pomfrey gave you enough to eat, right?" Then she paused, and looked a bit embarrassed. "Of course she gave you enough to eat - silly me! She's a teacher." Her voice raised a bit in reverance as she said the word, 'teacher.' Harry decided then and there to break her teacher-worshipping habits.

"I'm feeling great - I didn't really need to stay in the hospital. I felt fine when I woke up!" Hermione released her hold on him (to Harry's slight disappointment) and looked at him a bit sternly, though without any real malcontent. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Harry cut he off before she could begin. "I had enough food, and I'm all good." He smiled again, tilting his head a little to the right as was his habit. Hermione colored a bit, but Harry couldn't be sure as she whipped around a second later to take her Charm's books out of her book bag.

Harry looked around, feeling that he was missing something. He frowned, realizing what was missing. "Hey Hermione, where's Ron?" He asked, his eyebrows creased. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Geez, Harry, don't you know your best friend well enough to know that he would never come to class as early as this unless the apocalypse was commencing?" She asked, smiling. Harry snickered, realizing the truth in this statement. But he paused half-chuckle, realizing something about what Hermione had said. He frowned.

"Hermione, both of you are my best friends - not just Ron. You know that, right?" Hermione bent her head down and mumbled something, her face colored once again. "Hermione?" He prompted worriedly, lowering his voice to protect their (now rather personal) conversation from interested ears.

"I guess, Harry," she replied, though her tone did the opposite of convincing Harry. "I just always thought Ron was, with all the adventures you two got up to, especially last year with the flying car and the spiders, and the basilisk..." she stopped mid-sentence, realizing she'd been dragging on. "Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to ramble." But Harry didn't crack a smile, worried and sad about this turn of events.

"Hermione, I like both of you guys for totally different and equally important reasons." She looked skeptical, but stayed silent. "With Ron, I do things like... say, fly a car to school or playing Quidditch. Somehow, I can't imagine you enjoying those much." Hermione laughed along with Harry this time - neither of them able to see Hermione illegally flying a car to Hogwarts.

"I guess that's understandable," she said, but Harry wasn't finished yet.

"And with you, 'Mione, I do things like talk about the more... I dunno," he trailed off, trying to put into words what he was talking about. "The more important stuff that you understand better, and Muggle-related stuff that Ron would think was related to a 'fellyfone.'" Hermione, beside herself, snorted at the reference to Ron's lack of Muggle knowledge. "Plus, you're a complete genius." Harry added at the end in a casual voice that suggested it shouldn't even need mentioning. Hermione blushed a pretty rose pink.

"T-Thanks, Harry," she stuttered out, smiling at him.

"No need." Harry answered, then frowned once again. "So, where _is_ Ron? Class starts in three minutes!" Hermione gave a disapproving, exasperated sound, and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Well, _I_ most certainly don't know. Last I saw of him, he was gobbling sausages down like they were crackers, and talking to Seamus at the same time," Hermione said. Harry snorted in amusement, knowing fully well that Hermione wasn't exaggerating at all.

"He's going to be late," Harry predicted, trying to keep the hint of laughter out of his voice at the mention of Ron's 'eating habits.'

"You would think his parents starved him over the summer!" Hermione commented, and Harry's heart lurched unpleasantly. He nodded rapidly in agreement, trying not to let on that he knew all to well what it was like to be _really_ starved over the summer. However, Hermione (who was retrieving her Charms textbook and some parchment from her bag) didn't seem to notice.

A few minutes later, Charms class had started without Ron, and so it was no surprise to either of them when (five minutes in) he came barreling through the double-doors - panting as if he'd just run a marathon, and grabbing at a cramp at his side.

"A-am-" (pant) "-I-" (pant, pant) "l-late?" (Pant, pant, pant.) He asked, though the question wasn't really needed.

"Indeed, you are, Mr. Weasley," Professor Flitwick answered in a flat tone. "That'll be five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Now please be seated next to Mr. Potter and Mrs. Granger, would you?" He nodded, and sat down next to them, looking annoyed at the loss of House points.

"Whoa!" He said, still gasping for breath. "I just-" (pant) "-ran up two flights of s-stairs," (pant, pant) and down three cor-corridors to get here on t-time," (pant) "-and I'm late!" He finished, looking outraged. Harry smiled at him. Ron never changed. "Why didn't you t-tell me you were leaving for Charms, Hermione?" He asked, looking annoyed at her. Harry frowned. Why was he annoyed at Hermione? He couldn't honestly think it's her fault he's late?

"I did tell you!" Hermione exclaimed loudly, her surprise messing up the Switching Spell she had been working on. Flitwick glanced at her, and she muttered a, "Sorry, Professor." Ron and Hermione continued to bicker furiously, and though Harry was glad to see Ron, he was more than a bit hurt that he hadn't even welcomed him back from the Hospital Wing. Also (unusually) Harry was fully on Hermione's side in this particular fight. He didn't doubt for a second that she had told Ron that she was leaving, and he doubted even less that Ron had absentmindedly replied with:

"Mmm-kay," and continued talking with Seamus.

Class continued mostly as normal - Ron remembering that Harry had been Hospitalized halfway through and apologizing fervently (for him, anyways) - and Harry had finished his Switching Spell. With the help of Hermione, of course. Ron had nearly completed it, though it appeared that his quill had feet. Hermione, needless to say, had gotten it on her third try.

Across the classroom, Malfoy was looking sour - mostly likely at the fact that he wasn't close enough to tease Harry about his absence yesterday without getting in trouble. However, Harry was still braced for Potions class, and the trouble it would certainly bring. Harry grimaced at the thought of what Malfoy, and even scarier, _Snape_ would have to say on the matter.

"-arry!" Came a female voice from beside him, and he felt a small push on his side.

"Wha?" He answered in what was not his most intelligent voice.

"Charm's class is over, Harry," Hermione said. "C'mon, we have to get to Potions!" Harry blinked. _Is class really over already?_ He thought. Harry looked around at the nearly deserted class. _Apparently so, _he deducted sardonically.

Only then did the repercussions of what Hermione had said sink in. It was time for Potions Class.

_Bloody Hell_.

A/N: Sorry this is so late! I'm getting to a crucial part in "Just My Luck," and (I know this excuse is SO over-used) Finals week starts tomorrow! EEeEe!

Anyways, as always,

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**JUST PRESS THE GREEN BUTTON TO THE BOTTOM-MIDDLE OF THIS WEBPAGE. (If you do, I'll give you a cookie! _ )**

~Aquahina


	5. Teachers

A/N: ENJOY!!!!!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. However, on a completely unrelated note, I think that Johnny Wier got robbed in the Men's Ice Skating at the Olympics!!! EErgh!

* * *

Chapter Five

If Harry had had his way, he would have taken the slowest route to Potions, walking his slowest pace, and dropping his bag numerous times. However, to his eternal annoyance, he just didn't have that kind of time. He half stumbled, half sprinted his way through the maze-like corridors and passageways of Hogwarts (with Hermione panting along by his side) towards the Dungeons.

To Harry, it felt remarkably similar to descending towards Hell.

Finally, they approached the damp, stone-hewn corridor, which lead to the Dungeon. They stopped directly outside of the door, hearing a buzz of pre-class chatter through it. Harry stared at the door handle in contempt - as if he could somehow make it disappear just by doing so. However, as he was not an expert on wandless magic, it did not do so.

"Harry?" Hermione said, gently nudging him with her elbow to break him out of his glaring. "We should go in now. We can't just skip. You'll get in even more trouble from Snape as well as other teachers." Harry, of course, knew this. As a last attempt to make some sort of defense against Snape's sure-to-be-harsh words, he straightened, and in one brisk movement - opened the door.

Harry could have sworn it hadn't ever been that loud before. Every single head in the room, teacher and student alike, turned towards him, their eyes sticking like glue. Harry stepped in, Adam's apple bobbling as he gulped.

As discreetly as he could while so many were watching his every move, he took one of the two seats Ron had reserved and plunked down in it, hunching his back as he dug through his book bag and tried to find his text.

"Late again, I see," came the sneering voice of Snape from across the classroom. "Not the best way to start a school year out, it is?" This was a hypothetical question, Harry knew. To answer was to invite him in for more taunting. "Five points from Gryffindor each for your tardiness." He snapped, whipping around to face the chalkboard as he spoke. Harry bit back a retort, knowing it wouldn't help at all. Beside him, Hermione's face was contorted between anger and outrage.

However, like Harry, she seemed to see that this was _not_ the best time to argue with the professor.

Despite the unfair deduction of points, Harry remained calm_._ _Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him_; he chanted mantra-like inside his head as Snape continued belittleing and insulting him and, nearly as predominantly, his father. To his great surprise, it seemed to be working. Harry only nodded vaguely at Snape's snide words, and the Potions Master was none too pleased about Harry's newly acquired skill.

"-horrendous. Longbottom, I seem to have underestimated you - you are even worse at Potions than _Potte_r!" He spat Harry's last name as if it were poison. Neville hunched his shoulders and attempted to become invisible in his chair. It went without saying that he as unsuccessful.

"Sorry, Sir," Neville muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Snape curled his upper lip into an ugly, disdainful sneer.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your complete and utter incompetence, Longbottom! Now go get a rag and clean up that spilled potion!" Groans echoed around the dungeon, mixed slightly with happy whispers and snickers from the Slytherins. Finally, Harry couldn't take it any more. He may have been able to hold out against insults about him, and even his parents, but his friends? _I don't think so_. However, Harry would lay in wait.

For a second, Harry felt very Slytherin as he formulated his plan. Despite having had only a short prank-lesson from Lupin, (_Remus_, he corrected himself) he had learned a few, vital skills and had been stocked. He cautiously felt inside his robes pocket for the smoke bomb Remus had given him. Upon finding it, he smiled slightly evilly. Across the room, Pansy Parkinson looked disgruntled at this expression.

"Professor! Potter's up to something!" She shrilled in a nauseatingly high voice. Harry started, but calmed himself. _I've still got the upper hand_, he consoled himself. However, Snape didn't seem to think so. He swooped down bat-like, smiling sickeningly.

"Potter?" He said, deceptively calm.

"Yes, sir?" Harry answered, equally composed. For a second, Snape narrowed his eyes - surprised at Harry's demeanor.

"What is this?" Snape pointed one long, spidery finger towards Harry's potion as he spoke. Harry shrugged; knowing that no matter what he said it wouldn't help his cause.

"My potion, Professor." He answered confidently, still fingering the smoke bomb in his pocket. "Do you have a problem with it?" Again, Snape sneered. _That really isn't an attractive expression on him_, Harry thought.

"What color is it?" Snape was acting as if he were talking to a four-year-old. For a second, Harry was tempted to start his plan right then, but he restrained himself. Harry glanced at his potion. It was supposed to be bright turquoise.

"It's dark blue, professor," He answered, still calm.

"It is _supposed_ to be turquoise, Potter." Harry nodded.

"I know that." Harry said. Snape nearly took a step back at Harry's unexpected answer. However, he plowed on.

"Potter! You astound me in your complete incapability to make even the easiest of potions! Your fainting on the train does not allow you to simply ignore your classes, no matter how entitled and important you may think yourself!" The Slytherins around the room (especially Malfoy, Harry noticed) snickered and sneered, enjoying Snape's anger directed at Harry.

"Okay, sir." Harry answered. Beside him, Hermione had bent her head over her cauldron to hide her face. However, Harry could tell that she was on the verge of laughing at Snape's anger at Harry's cool attitude. However, Harry's attention was focused on the reddening man in front of him. Usually a sickly pale color, Snape's skin was rapidly turning light pink, then nearly tomato-red. Next to him, Ron couldn't withhold a tiny snicker. Snape whipped his head around, his greasy black hair flying over his shoulders.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley!" Snape hissed. Ron spluttered indignantly.

"But- but sir! That's not-"

"Fifteen points, then!" Ron had the wits to stay silent, though his face had turned even darker than Snape's. Harry could hear him muttering profanities, though it was too soft for Snape to hear. Harry bit back a grin at Ron's inventive cusses.

Fingering the smoke bomb, he realized that if he let it off now, Snape would not only automatically suspect him (and, for once, be correct in his suspicions) but he would likely have a lot of points taken off. Harry gave a miniscule sigh of annoyance, and carefully placed the round, fist-sized ball back into his pocket.

_I will prank him though, _he vowed. _But now is not the time._

Cheered by his vow, he went back to his potion, taking care to follow the instructions exactly. Hermione was a bit ahead of him in the potion, and though he could not ask her for direction or help (Snape was staring fixedly at him, an ugly glare twisting his face) he often looked back casually - pretending to retrieve something or other - and watch her for a few seconds, and copy her. After a couple of his turns, she had caught on and gone a bit slower, inconspicuously holding up the ingredients she was using to make it easier for Harry.

All in all, Potions passed much more quickly than he'd expected it to. At long last (Harry had been watching the clock with rapture) it tolled 11:55. Harry dashed out, having pre-packed a few minutes before. However, he was not quick enough to evade Malfoy, who was sitting rather inconveniently in the desk right next to the door.

"Running away, Potter?" He asked, stepping in front of the doorway.

"What, from you, Malfoy? I'd more likely run from a pink rabbit," Harry retorted, getting a few laughs from his fellow Gryffindors. Malfoy's lip curled.

"From the scary Dementors over there, of course," He said, pointing a finger at the far wall of the classroom. Harry, not taking the rather obvious bait, simply raised an eyebrow. Malfoy, however, was not to be deterred. He began miming what appeared to be a feinting six year old girl... who he apparently believed was what Harry had been like. Beside himself, Harry was offended.

"Ohhhh!" Malfoy squealed in a high-pitched voice not overly different from his normal one, "Scccaaarrrryy! I'm so scared I think I'm going to... faint!" Despite the terrible attempt humor, the Slytherins (most of which had remained in the Potions room to watch Malfoy tease Harry) laughed in unison. It reminded Harry of the typical high school movie scene.

Mean person. Mean person teases. Lackeys laugh. Teased person gets mad. Teased person ends out on top.

Now all he had to figure out was how exactly to end up on top...

However, while he was wracking his brain for any ideas on how to do that, Hermione took action. She took a calm, confident step forward - glaring at Malfoy the entire time - swiveled her upper body to the side, cocked a closed fist, and slammed it into the side of Malfoy's head.

Malfoy went flying - actually falling a good three feet behind where Hermione had hit him. She stood in perfect position, her glare not lessened and her fist still raised threateningly.

There was silence.

...

Then, the room exploded. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were howling with laughter, gripping each other's heaving shoulders for balance. Malfoy lay in a disheveled heap, looking completely and utterly stunned at this turn of events. The laughing did not cease.

Hermione had begun to blush - an attractive, bright pink hue spreading across her upper cheeks. She looked torn between grinning in satisfaction, and feeling bad and apologizing to the ferret-like boy before her. Harry, who was laughing albeit not as hard as the rest, rested his right hand comfortingly on her shoulder - hoping to somehow communicate that she shouldn't feel bad for the boy one bit. He'd had it coming for a long while now.

"H-Hermione," Ron gasped between choking laughter, "where did you learn to throw a- a punch like that?" She smiled, her mouth curling up into a satisfied smile.

"Karate lessons during summers," she replied, losing none of her composure. Ron, however, seemed to find her explanation even more laugh inducing.

"Di- did you h-hear that, Dean?" He shouted loudly to the other boy. "Hermione takes K-k-karate lessons!" Dean, Ron and Seamus (who had overheard over the raucous laughter) fell into even louder hysterics.

Harry glared at Ron. _Why is he laughing?_ He wondered. _It's not like she couldn't kick his scrawny arse at both dueling and fistfights..._ And then Harry realized he'd found his answer. Ron was scared, and angry at Hermione for upping him at yet another thing. Sure, Ron was glad to see Malfoy (who was still spluttering angrily) put into his place, but he had wanted himself to be the one to do it.

Ron wanted to be the one who was congratulated, not Hermione.

Even in her moment of glory and recognition, he looked sour. The laughter had mostly died down by now - accentuated only by infrequent burst of hiccup-y laughter from assorted Gryffindors. Everyone was crowded eagerly around Hermione, asking her questions and reminiscing about her and Malfoy's brief encounter.

Hermione looked (and felt, Harry was certain) overwhelmed and out of her comfort zone. Like Harry, she'd never liked the spotlight, and she had surprisingly similar reasons to Harry's for it. Of course, she's grown up in a normal household with kind parents - but she'd never really been in the spotlight before, and when she had it had been for bad reasons.

When she'd been called into attention during her elementary school years, it had been when she was being teased for being her smart self. Similarly, and yet not, the only time Harry'd been a source of attention in his home life for the overwhelming majority of his life was when he had done something wrong and needed to be punished. Harry couldn't help a small shiver from running through him at the thought.

However, Ron - having six siblings - had been the center of attention very little. However, what separated him from Harry and Hermione was that when he _was_ in the spotlight it was for good reasons. When he'd made a goal in Quidditch, or done good accidental magic, his parents had doted upon him and congratulated him. However, the only attention they (meaning Harry and Hermione) had ever gotten had lead to worse and worse repercussions.

Harry narrowed his eyes as Ron started speaking louder and louder, trying to take attention away from Hermione as he recounted Malfoy's fall in a boisterous, overdone manner. A scarce few people were listening or watching him, and the ones who were laughed weakly - wanting to hear from Hermione, not him.

After a while, Ron realized the truth of it as Harry watched. His eyes narrowed, red hair falling into his eyes in an angry manner as he marched sullenly away. Harry had an ominous feeling that this wouldn't be the last he would hear of this.

However, now was not the time for such thinking. Hermione needed him. Despite himself, a little thrill ran through him at that thought._ Hermione needs me_. Smiling, he stepped forward, pushing the crowds of people aside to get to his friend.

"Hermione!" He said, finally reaching her.

"Harry!" She said, letting a huge breath out in a sigh of relief. "Thank you, but-" The rest of her sentence was lost in the loud crush of people. Harry glared.

"QUIET!" He roared, using accidental magic to raise his voice to nearly sonic proportions. "Can't you see she wants to get to lunch, you idiots!?" The mob (though decreased from it's original numbers) quieted ashamedly.

"'Sorry's" were mumbled toward Hermione as the crowds dissipated, everyone bunching off into groups - still discussing the swift battle between Hermione and Malfoy.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, staring at him with wide, brown eyes. "I don't... like attention." She cemented Harry's original suspicion with her hesitant words.

"Neither do I," He replied unnecessarily. Hermione already knew this, but he said it so she wouldn't be a separate party from him. They were united. "Too bad Ron doesn't feel the same. I have a feeling things might be a little tense between you two in the next few weeks." Hermione took in his words, nodding slowly as she put together the information and processed it.

"Yeah," She agreed shortly.

In an amiable silence, they walked towards the Great Hall for lunch period. By the time they'd reached the cavernous room, the tale of Malfoy's humiliation had spread with influenza-like speed to all corners of Hogwarts. No one had been left uninformed.

Hermione was approached by people of all houses (though less from Slytherin than any others) and congratulated, even hugged by a few of Malfoy's more prominent enemies. By the time they were seated in their normal area, Hermione was once again blushing up a storm, and she soon busied herself picking at her corned beef disinterestedly. She looked as if she wanted to pull out a textbook from her book bag, but in the sake of his sanity, Harry kept it away from her firmly - despite the confused and slightly annoyed looks she sent him throughout lunch.

Finally, the whisper-filled lunch was ended. Snape, who had been in his office throughout the Malfoy-Hermione episode, had come to lunch and had been staring in ill-disguised fury at Harry and company the entire time. Despite the sure-to-be-unpleasant repercussions of his anger, Harry couldn't help but feel happy at his absence during Hermione's fifteen minutes of fame.

"We have to go, Harry!" Hermione said for about the fifth time that day, nudging him gently with her shoulder. "C'mon, Defense starts soon! We don't want to miss Professor Lupin's first lesson with us..." That was all it took for Harry to choke down his last bite of pasta and jump onto his feet as quick as lightning. Hermione looked taken aback, yet pleased.

"Erm... good," She said, unsure what to say at his sudden enthusiasm towards classes. "Let's go!" And they headed off, neither saying anything about Ron's lack of appearance all through lunch despite his notorious appetite.

_It's going to be an uncomfortable day,_ Harry decided.

When they reached Professor Lupin's classroom, there was about three minutes until class. Harry and Hermione sat down at a table with three seats - so that there would be room for Ron when he came to join them. _If_ he came to join them. They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes until Remus entered the classroom about a minute before class through the connecting door to his office.

About thirty seconds before class, Ron came dashing in - red faced and heaving with effort at the run. Harry felt disapproving, before he realized that he'd come to classes at pretty much the same schedule as Ron last year. He made a mental note not to do that, and to try to convince Ron not to either.

Panting, the Weasley marched up to a seat not in the table Harry and Hermione were at and plopped down, talking to Dean and Seamus immediately. Dean and Seamus themselves looked more than a little bit confused by this turn of events, often turning curiously towards Hermione and Harry during the tentative conversation.

Finally, class began.

"Good afternoon, students, I am Professor Remus Lupin and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He sat down on the corner of his desk, effortlessly gaining "non-stuck-up" points from most students. "Now, for the first ten or so minutes of class, I'd like to welcome all of you to ask any and all questions you may have for me."

A few hands shot up into the air, Hermione's included.

"Mr..." Remus's voice trailed off as he silently asked for a name.

"-Finnegan." Seamus finished for him. "I was wondering if you could show us a cool spell really quick, as a demonstration - even if we don't learn it." Seamus looked eager at the prospect of "cool" magic, and Harry too was excited at this turn of events. Besides the first day of first year, they'd never really gotten to see a really interesting example of any of the classes, or what they were working towards.

"Good question, Mr. Finnegan," Remus replied jovially. "Of course. Now, let's see..." He thought for a couple of seconds. "Ahh! Here's a rather flashy spell, though it isn't used very much in common day use-" He flicked his wand in a slightly strange up-and-down pattern, "_Quendam Narro!_" He said.

Immediately after his neon orange beam of magic hit the object he'd pointed at (which was, in fact, a paper weight on his desk) it stood up, turned yellow with green dots and began to talk through an unseen mouth.

"Hey, suckers!" It yelled in an annoying, high pitched tone. "What'cha doin'?" No one answered, still looking at the strange item open mouthed. "You see, there was this funny story last week. See - I was just sitting in this shop and this dude came in, dressed real crappy, he was. Tie especially looked like shi-" Remus did a quick "Finite!" before the paperweight could finish it's swear. He looked a little bit red in the cheeks at the language of his paperweight.

"What... was _that_?" A Ravenclaw girl in the front of the class asked in a mix between curiosity and distaste - presumably at the paperweight's personality.

"That, my friends," Remus replied, "-was a very effective distraction spell. Now, say you're in a duel where your opponent can't specify exactly where you're hidden... in a forest, or something." The students nodded in comprehension. "You can cast this spell to create a distraction and get your dueling partner to look away while you go onto offense."

"Cool!" Lavender Brown said in a rare bout of enthusiasm towards magic. "But... wouldn't your opponent be able to tell it wasn't you talking? I mean, you don't talk like that..." Remus blushed lightly again.

"Well, that actually was a bit of mistake on my part. The item I used in the example was wizard-made. To create something with an... erm... calmer, or more normal personality, you have to charm something of natural origin, such as a stick or a regular rock. The paperweight I used," He picked up the blown-glass paperweight, "-is rather... un-natural."

"Cool!" Lavender Brown repeated.

"Anyways, any more questions?" Remus asked. This time, many hands rose exuberantly into the air. "No more demonstrations," he said in a faux-strict tone. "Maybe in a couple of days, though." A couple more hands went down, disappointed looks on the hand-raisers expressions.

In the next five minutes, Harry and the class learned that Professor Lupin:

-Had never taught professionally before, though he'd tutored for a short time a few years ago

-Lived in a small cottage about fifteen miles from Liverpool, in the country

-Didn't have a pet

-Was thirty-three years old

And a few other assorted facts. Finally, once he'd called on Hermione, she asked the first school related question.

"Sir," she began, "-what exactly are we going to learn this year?" There were a few groans around the room, as the professor had announced this to be the last question he would answer.

"Well, Mrs. Granger," (she'd introduced herself previously) "-we will first be learning about magical creatures and how to protect yourselves from them. However, we will also be learning basic dueling and a few offensive and defensive spells." This elicited a few excited whispers around the classroom. Besides the failed attempt at a Dueling club last year, they'd never even gotten to fight magically against other students... within the rules, at least. The best attack spell most of them knew was the Tickling hex, or the Disarming spell.

Harry gave a sigh of relief. He may not be the most academically aspiring person, but he'd realized early this year (with the partial abandonment of Ron) that he really did need to step up his studies if he wanted to be able to last more than a second against Voldemort, and if this curriculum wasn't in place, he doubted he would have taken initiative himself. Also, though he barely admitted it to himself, it gave his comfort to know that he would have a ways of defending himself against Vernon Dursley if it came to that.

"Now, enough questions. First this year, we will be learning about Red Caps, followed by Boggarts..." and the lesson began.

......o0O0o......

"-so amazing!" Hermione gushed excitedly as they walked together towards Divination, which was apparently in the highest tower of the school. "Finally, we have a DADA teacher who will actually _teach!_" Harry grinned.

"Looks like someone has their second teacher crush..." he hinted jokingly. She elbowed him hard in the side. "Ow!" Harry exclaimed, miming to be more hurt than he actually was.

"Serves you right!" She said, sniffing, yet still looking amused. "I do not have a crush on Professor Lupin! It would be fickle to have two crushes at once-" she stopped her sentence immediately as she realized what she was saying, and blushed the color of a ripe tomato. Harry smiled, though inside he was far more hurt than he'd have liked to admit for a reason he knew not.

"I didn't know you had a c-crush on someone, 'Mione," he said, covering up his (_completely uncalled for,_ he reminded himself) hurt. "Who's it on?" If possible, she got an even darker red. "Seamus? Ron?" She shook her head fervently, looking slightly disgusted when he suggested Ron.

"Eww! Geez, Harry, you know I don't like Ron more than a friend..."

"Who, than?" Harry asked, pre-deciding that he wasn't approving of anyone she would name. However, she named no one.

"Ahh!" She said in an overly loud voice. "Look, there's the door!" She was pointing upwards, and for a second, Harry thought she'd finally lost her mind - until he saw the trap door above.

"_Descendio!_" She said, pointing at it with her wand. The door opened, and a rope ladder unfurled and fell to a few inches above the stone-hewn floor. They climbed up.

The subject of Hermione's crush momentarily forgotten, they peered uncertainly around the room. They were the first ones there, despite it being only two minutes before class. Harry hoped his classmates hadn't gotten too lost...

"Weird looking place, isn't it?" Hermione whispered to him. Harry coughed in answer, choking on the overly scented, stuffy smell. The room itself was circular, it's walls covered with uninteresting, red and black carpets. In the place of regular desks or tables, squat tables and beanbags sat, all facing a large overstuffed chair with an pink, fringed lamp emitting a soft glow. There was no teacher in sight.

"Yeah," Harry replied, taking a seat in a blue beanbag next to where they'd entered. "I wonder what the class will be like..." They continued to make small talk, noting the lack of books and the abundance of what seemed to be teacups and round balls.

Slowly, students trickled in, the last of them (a disoriented looking Dean) coming in a good ten minutes late. Ron, again, sat next to Dean and Seamus.

When he'd gotten settled, the teacher finally made herself known.

"Good afternoon, my dears," came a voice from the dim back of the classroom. A woman stepped out of the shadows, looking more apart of her room than humanoid. She was dressed in multiple layers of Middle-Eastern looking shawls and a long, periwinkle skirt that reminded Harry unpleasantly of Aunt Petunia's favorite blouse. Her eyes were covered by round glasses, which were so thick and smudged that you couldn't see her eyes. She raised her arms for effect: "Welcome to Divination."

_I have a feeling I'm not going to like this class,_ was his last thought before the "lesson" began.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update... I've been extremely busy.

However, I will try to update as soon as I can!!!

Reviews are encouraging for a fast update, and very much appreciated... *hint hint wink wink*

R

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~AQUAHINA


	6. Electives

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, not do I claim to. Test Copyright © 2007 by J. K. Rowling; Illustrations by Mary GrandPre copyright © 2007 by Warner Bros. HARRY POTTER & all related characters and elements are TM of and © WBEI. Harry Potter publishing rights: J. K. Rowling. All rights reserved. Published by Arthur Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., _Publishers since 1920_. SCHOLASTIC, the LANTERN LOGO, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc. Library of Congress Control Number:

200795449. ISBN-13: 978-0-545-01022-1 Printed in the U.S.A

Now that that ridiculously long disclaimer is finished (copied tediously from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), on with the story!

Also, there is swearing in this chapter

_Chapter Six: Electives_

Divination was not at all like Harry had expected. It was not annoying, or pointless. Trelawny was not a little wacko, as he'd expected. It was worse, by far. From the description, the entire course was spent deciding whether or not one had the "inner eye," the lack of which would make the entire course pointless. Trelawny was completely, bat-shit crazy, from her apparent love of stuffy overly-incenced rooms, to her prophecies of Harry's death in multiple ways within the first fifteen minutes of class.

It had started with an introductory tea-cup lesson, when Hermione had found what she believed to be a horse in his cup, which apparently symbolized unity. The other figure she thought she saw was some sort of head... though Harry thought it looked more like a bowler hat. They had been trying to figure out what exactly that meant (Hermione thought it meant that he was going be united in evil, and Harry thought it meant that he was going to have unity with a bunch of people wearing bowler hats) when Trelawny swooped down like a demented bat.

"Here, dear," she rasped, grabbing the cup from Hermione's surprised and indignant hands. "Let me do it." She closed her eyes for effect, apparently concentrating magic, and swished the dregs of the herbal tea around in the cup, all the while muttering something under her breath. Beside Harry, Hermione snorted in a way Harry would never have imagined she would use against a teacher.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron miming the eccentric professor, rolling his head and eyes around as if in some sort of trance. Harry refrained from chuckling in amusement. He and Ron may not have been on the best of terms at the moment, but even so, Ron had a good sense of humor. Meanwhile, Trelawny was staring narrow-eyed at the clump of tea leaves at the bottom of Harry's light blue and gold teacup. She turned it around a few times, examining it carefully.

"I see... a cup, signifying your near fulfillment, the appearance of a new emotion." She rotated it to the left a bit more, still looking at if as if it held the secrets of the universe. "I see... a skull, meaning a battle or conflict, and finally..." she turned the cup in one last motion, and she froze, looking at the cup's contents as if petrified. She let out a huge, dramatic gasp, dropping the delicate cup to the ground, where it immediately shattered - waking more than three slumbering students across the attic-classroom. "Dear... I never suspected..." she muttered, looking at Harry in a horrified manner.

"What?" This, surprisingly, came from Hermione, who looked more skeptical than worried - unlike most of the class.

"Mr. Potter, I am afraid you have..." she paused, shuddering, "-_the Grim_."

This statement made effect on only about a third of the classroom. The rest looked highly confused, and almost disappointed at the anti-climatic result of her prediction. However, the ones who did understand what she was talking about were of a completely different frame of mind. A few girls, most of all Parvati, looked faint, holding themselves up with the tables in front of them. Whispers encompassed the room, mostly consisting of people attempting to figure out what "The Grim" was.

However, it was Hermione who asked the question on everyone's minds. "Professor, what exactly is the grim?" She sounded interested, despite her obvious dislike of Divination and of Professor Trelawny in general. Harry found himself a bit surprised that she didn't already know the answer. Trelawny, however, was still holding her dramatics, gasping for breath and holding a hand over her chest.

"Th-the grim," she stuttered, still looking at Harry with wide eyes, "-is a terrible omen. It is the omen..." she paused once again, "-of _death._" Everyone in the room drew a collective breath as she finished her sentence. More people were now looking at Harry - either apologetically, or sadly. Harry himself was shocked into silence. Despite his skepticism of the merit of Divination as a subject, anyone would be knocked off their feet by the declaration that he was going to die in the near future. However, to Harry's complete shock, it was not Hermione (though she was already opening her mouth with an angry expression on her face), but Ron who jumped to his defense.

"That's bulls**t!" Ron proclaimed loudly, standing up and banging his fist on the table with a rumbling thud. Everyone stopped their whispering purely out of surprise, and were now looking at Ron with a mix of confusion, shock, and (for a few) disdain. Ron, now realizing what he'd just done, colored to nearly unmatchable shades of red - his face competing with his hair. "My uncle saw a grim once, and he died-" Trelawny now looked confused as to why he was protesting, "-but the Department of Magical Examination at the Ministry said it was because he had a heart attack out of the surprise, not because of the Grim."

Everyone was still looking at him in astonishment, none more pronounced than Trelawny, Hermione, and Harry. Harry blinked. _Wait, wasn't Ron mad at Hermione and I just a bit ago?_ Harry wondered, still looking at Ron in a surprised manner. _Trelawny must really piss him off to give up on being angry that quickly..._

"Ron's right," Hermione said, causing even more astonishment and possible fainters than Trelawny's statement... which both Hermione and Trelawny looked a bit annoyed at. "A death omen? Honestly! Harry has a bigger chance of being killed by an evil bunny rabbit than a heart attack, anyways." Ron, who was looking at Hermione in utter surprise at her backing of his statement, gave a terse nod.

Harry, going along with it, nodded in agreement - mimicing Ron. Then, he stood to match Ron and Hermione's stances. They stood together for a moment, each determined and steadfast. Then, as if it had been planned, they looked at each other, communicating silently.

"Well, I'm leaving!" Hermione huffed, gathering her books into her bag. Ron, with equal fervor, packed his as well. Harry paused a moment, weighing the pros and cons of quitting Divination. Pros; no more Trelawny, no more prophesizing his death, no more drinking disgusting tea... it wasn't a hard decision.

Then, with a stunned-silent classroom behind them, the Golden Trio descended down the ladder in a silent cue.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione managed to get a just far enough away so they wouldn't be heard before they all simultaneously erupted into laughter, literally falling over themselves with the effort to stay upright.

"T-that was br-br-brilliant, Ron!" Harry gasped hysterically as Hermione leaned on him for support as her chest heaved. Ron, though laughing, still managed to look happy with himself at Harry's compliment.

"D-did you see her f-f-face?" Hermione asked in a slightly shrill voice. This sent all three laughing even harder, previous arguments completely forgotten in the glory of the moment. They laughed uncontrollably for for what seemed to them hours (though it was, in reality, only a couple of minutes) simply enjoying each other's company.

Once they had finally calmed down (for the most part), Hermione was the first to turn serious. Or at least as serious as she could get with her eyes still red from crying laughter. Though, weepy eyes aside, she did look a bit daunted by what she had just done.

"We quit a class!" She squeaked, eyes huge. Ron, not at all upset, pumped his fist into the air happily.

"Yeah, we did!"

Hermione scowled, though she didn't look too mad. Harry, though he agreed with Ron in that he was extremely glad they'd quit, also shared Hermione's perspective about the potential problems it would cause for them. He sighed.

"We should go see McGonagall," Harry said rather dejectedly. He had nothing against the strict teacher, but he just knew that she wouldn't take kindly to them quitting a class - during their first lesson, no less. And then there was the issue of what exactly they were going to have in their (now empty) Divination slot...

"I guess," Ron agreed dejectedly, scuffing the tip of his sneaker against the ground in an annoyed fashion. "Let's go."

Now that the hysterics were over, it had become an extremely uncomfortable walk down from the Divination room. No one said anything about either quit class, nor the giant elephant in the room... metaphorically, of course. Said "giant elephant" took the form of Ron, Hermione and Harry's argument, or rather Ron's brief abandonment of them. Harry's face twisted a bit at the reminder.

As they reached the imposing, oak door that lead to Professor McGonagall's classroom, Harry had to admit he was a bit disappointed. He'd rather hoped Ron would apologize on the way there - the most obvious and effective way for them to fully resume their friendship. However, Ron had done no such thing.

_Though,_ Harry considered, _that could be just because of Ron's pride... an emotion with more than a little bit of sway in his life._

Hermione was the one to knock on the door, looking uncharacteristically tentative. The professor most likely had a class right now (with seven grades to teach - when didn't she have a class?), and it was strange to just burst into it. There was silence for a second, then the sharp clack of womens' shoes grew closer and closer from the other side of the door. Finally, it opened, revealing a confused and slightly suspiscious looking McGonagall.

Her eyes swept over them with a critical eye, not seeming overly surprised at their appearance. From behind her, Harry saw the peering eyes of what appeared to be her Fifth year class.

"What are you three doing out of class?" She asked pointedly, still looking them up and down as if searching for any injury. Not altogether an unusual reaction from Harry's history.

"Erm-" Harry began, more than a little bit uncomfortable at the obviously eavesdropping class directly behind her. Seeing his hesitance, Professor McGonagall regally stepped out of her classroom and gave her wand a quick flick, closing the door with a resounding slam.

"So?" She prompted again.

"Well, you see..." Harry re-began, barely more comfortably than before. Thankfully, Hermione interrupted before he could embarrass himself even further.

"We quit Divinations class, professor," she said in a tone far more business like than Harry had been prepared for. McGonagall blinked once in a cat-like manner, computing the information. Harry could have sworn her lips twitched in amusement.

"You... quit Divinations? Whyever so?"

"Well, you see," Ron explained, "-Professor Trelawny was prophesizing Harry's death, and the room smelled like a perfume truck crashed into it." Hermione looked horrified at Ron's (more than slightly insulting) explanation. However, the insulting factor didn't seem to faze McGonagall. If anything, she looked even more amused, and (did Harry dare say it?) happy than before.

"... perfume truck..." she muttered, lips definitly twitching. Finally, she gave in and let loose a small, delighted giggle. "Is this true, Mr. Potter?" She asked, turning her attention back to Harry.

"Well... yeah, pretty much," Harry admitted. Hermione looked apt to have a stroke. Again, McGonagall laughed, this time for longer - apparently holding back less. Though it was not a loud sound, somehow the idea of McGonagall laughing seemed... alien, and wrong in a way. It wasn't that she was a mean person, but she'd always been so strict.

"I... see." She said, still giggling mutedly, trying to hide her amusement. Then, she straighened up, donning the expression they were used to. "So? I assume you wish to switch your elective?"

"Yeah," Ron and Harry agreed, though Hermione looked strangely reluctant.

"Professor, could I keep it as a free period? I'm already taking five electives..." Ron and Harry's mouthes dropped open comically.

"Ah yes, Ms. Granger." The teacher looked Hermione up and down appraisingly. "You are a special case. You may use this period as a study period."

"Can we?" Ron asked eagerly, excited at the idea. However, his hopes were dashed as soon as they formed.

"Most certainly not!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Ms. Granger here is the only one I will allow to not take on another class. Both of you absolutely must have at least two electives. It is a graduation requirement." Ron nodded resignedly.

"What electives are open for them to take, professor?" Hermione asked. McGonagall turned back to the door to her classroom.

"I do not know at the moment, actually. Please return after I finish my class at 5:00pm, please. And bring your schedules!" With that, she swung the heavy door back into place, disappearing back into the confines of the Transfiguration classroom as if she'd never been there. Silence held in the hall for a couple of seconds.

"Well. That was unexpected," said Harry, the first one to speak. Ron nodded fervently, still staring at the brass-enforced door as if expecting the professor to jump back out, shouting, "April Fools! You actually have detention cleaning my floor with toothbrushes every night in my office until you graduate!"

Luckily for the sanity of all three students, no such event took place.

"McGonagall isn't unfair, you know," Hermione defended, significantly less surprised at the outcome than her two male companions, though equally (if not more) pleased. "So what electives do you guys want to take, now that you have an open slot?"

"What _can_ I take?" Ron asked. "I don't remember any of the other choices, really..." Harry gave a small, weak smile agreeing with Ron as Hermione looked at them with one eyebrow arched.

"You don't remember _any_?" She said disbelievingly. "Didn't you even consider your options at all?" Ron and Harry looked identically sheepish.

"Well... not really," Ron admitted. "I mean, I wanted to take Care of Magical Creatures because it sounded easy, and Divination too." Hermione turned her eyes towards Harry, searching them beseechingly; looking for a more noble reason he may have signed up for the two.

"Hey, I just wanted to be in class with you and Ron," he said, putting his hands up into the air defensively. She gave a sigh, but didn't pursue it further.

"Well, from what I remember... there is Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, and Beginning Magical Remedies. But I feel like I'm forgetting something else, too..." she finished, trailing off uncertainly. Ron snorted.

"Well, Arithmancy is out for me," he decided. "Isn't that, like, math or something?" Hermione, for at least the third time in the last few minutes, gave a long suffering sigh, though she sounded more good naturedly annoyed than actually.

"It's much more complicated that that, Ronald!" said Hermione. "Arithmancy is the study of divination through numbers... none of that pointless tea leaf stuff. It's much more factual." Ron didn't look convinced.

"So... it's math?" He confirmed. Hermione gave a small noise of irritation, but didn't correct him.

"Harry. What do you want to do?" She asked, turning towards him. Harry was contemplative.

"I don't know..." he said. "I don't want to take Arithmancy-" (Ron looked triumphant) "-and I don't need to take Muggle Studies. So I'm thinking Ancient Runes, or Beginning Magical Remedies." Hermione nodded in affirmation.

"That makes sense... personally, I'm taking Ancient Runes of the two. It's very interesting... it's good if you want to be a Curse Breaker, like Ron's brother Bill, or things like that." Harry shrugged noncommittally.

He most wanted to take Beginning Magical Remedies, by far. As Hermione had brought up, Ancient Runes was good if you wanted to be a Curse Breaker. But what she had left out was that you didn't need it to do much else in life... nothing that he wanted to do. Learning how to magically heal, on the other hand... well. Not only would that be the smartest course for him to take given his history (he'd heard Madame Pomfrey mumbling something about a record) but it actually sounded like something he'd like to learn.

Plus, if he'd known how to magically heal himself, he could have just done it when he'd gotten his arm broken over the summer - problem solved. Not that he'd ever tell Ron or Hermione that.

"I think I'll take Beginning Magical Remedies," Harry said, deciding. Ron looked surprised, and teensy bit scornful.

"Healing?" said Ron doubtfully. "Isn't being a healer, like, a _girl_ profession?" Harry could have sworn he saw a fire being kindled in Hermione's pupils.

"You... you...!" she struggled for words, turning a shade of red he'd never seen her turn purely out of anger. Ron immediately saw the trouble and backtracked at professional speed.

"I'm not being sexist!" He insisted, throwing his hands around wildly to emphasize. "It's just... that time I went to St. Mungo's for when George threw a rock at me when I was seven, all the nurses were girls..." he ended lamely. Hermione, though less angry than before, now just looked disbelieving, though at what Harry didn't know.

"So... you based all you know about healing on one trip to St. Mungos when you were seven?" She repeated. Ahh. That. Ron's face was red, he scratched at his palm nervously.

"Uhh... yeah, pretty much," he admitted, the words sounding insubstantial even to him. Hermione gave a sigh of disbelief, but didn't carry on the argument any longer - to Ron's great relief.

"I hope you realize, Ronald, that that is completely incorrect," she said finally. Ron gave a vague mumble of agreement, looking ashamed.

"Anyways," Harry said before they could continue the argument any further, "-what do you think you're going to take, Ron?"

Ron, looking grateful for the change of subject, turned contemplative. "I don't really know," he said truthfully. "Obviously I'm continuing Care of Magical Creature, so that means I only have Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, and Magical Remedies left as choices."

"Do you have any idea what you want to do when you grow up?" Hermione asked. Ron thought, leaning his head back and looking at the high ceiling.

"Well, if I can't get good enough at Quidditch to join the Cannons," (Harry personally doubted he would have to get very good for the Chudley Cannons) "-then I was thinking maybe an Auror, or maybe to work with Bill as a Curse Breaker." Hermione looked a tiny bit surprised at his second choice, though very much approving.

"You'll probably want to take Ancient Runes, then," she said. "Especially if you want to go into Curse Breaking." Ron looked a little disappointed that he wouldn't be with Harry, but agreed, nodding. He was about to answer, when Hermione continued thoughtfully. "However, I personally suggest Muggle Studies instead. No offense, Ron, but you need it more than almost any other witch or wizard I've ever met." The last bit was teasing, and Ron reddened slightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He cried indignantly, but didn't wait for an answer. "But... I guess you _are_ right." Hermione was notably surprised that he admitted to it.

As it turned out, Hermione had, indeed, remembered all of the electives offered for Hogwarts third-years; a fact she looked unusually embarrassed at. Ten minutes or so after Ron's revelation that he would be taking Muggle Studies class as his elective, McGonagall's doors slammed open - fifth years pouring out. When the stream had abated, and everyone was heading down to the Great Hall for dinner, the three walked in. McGonagall was waiting for them with three slips of businesslike parchment held in her hands.

They took a piece from her each, and filled out the basics: name, grade, etc. Underneath was a list of the classes available to take; revealing that there was only the six Hermione had specified. Having pre-decided, they circled their chosen option without further thought. Harry circling Magical Remedies, Muggle Studies for Ron, and Hermione checking off the "Other" option, and inserting, "Professor-approved free period."

Within eight minutes, the three had exited McGonagall's office (Ron and Harry more hurriedly than their female companion) and started the trek down to the Great Hall with new schedules clutched in their hands.

So immersed were they in talking together that they hardly even noticed when they entered the noisy Great Hall. However, they did notice when, voice by whispering voice, the talking decreased to hisses. Harry looked up with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Literally every single head in the entire room was directed towards him with a different intent in mind. Gryffindors worried. Hufflepuff's compassionate. Ravenclaw's curious. Slytherins (for the most part) mocking.

_Just what I need,_ was Harry's last, sarcastic thought before he was drowned in the insistent cries of the school. _More drama. _

A/N: So sorry this took... like, three months to get out! :( I've been so busy with my other main story, Just My Luck (HP world) and school - though it's now ended. Updates will still be few and far between, but I'm trying not to abandon this!

Review extremely appreciated!


	7. Secrets

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Again - it took a while. But at least it's out, right? heh heh...

_**Chapter Seven: Secrets**_

Harry supposed he should have expected the attention he was getting from the three-hundred-something pupils at Hogwarts - all of whom had by now heard of his stay in the hospital wing through the grape vine. But still, he had assumed at least a few of them had something better to do than to stare at him and whisper.

Well, to be fair, it was only really the Slytherins being malicious about it - the obvious extremity being Malfoy, though people seemed to be giggling more at the red welt on his face than his reenactments. The Ravenclaw portion of the Great Hall seemed to be interested in Harry; as if he were a conundrum they had been assigned to figure out. The Hufflepuffs mostly looked concerned about his well being, which made Harry feel half annoyed, and half grateful. His fellow Gryffindors were the most varied house - in terms of their reaction to his entrance.

The first years were whispering, all right, but most of them seemed to be more on the side of "OH MY WIZARD GOD IT'S HARRY POTTER!" than "I always knew he was a coward!" The students older than him (especially years five and up) were scoffing a bit, having reorganized their idea of him from one of them (a brave Gryffindor) to a Pygmy Puff in a lions' costume. Luckily, the people he knew seemed defensive of him - especially his dorm-mates.

There was an awkward silence, in which Harry shuffled his feet and concentrated his gaze on the staff table, which didn't help much, as Snape was smiling unnaturally at his predicament. Harry was close to just deciding to get Fred and George to tell them where the kitchens were and eat there, when Hermione yelled,

"Well? What are _you _looking at?" This seemed to be directed to the entire school (and staff) population. "Aren't you here to eat?" The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and most Gryffindors flushed a little and turned back to their meals. Harry smiled at his female friend appreciatively, and she flashed him a little grin in return. Ron wedged himself in between them jovially and directed the three friends to their usual spot at the Gryffindor table, where they studiously began to ignore the whispers and stares of their housemates.

Ron searched in vain for a subject to pursue without it sounding forced. Then, his eyes lit up. "Hey Harry! Did you hear about the upset in the British Cup semifinals yesterday? The Chelsea Chinchillas totally dominated the Birmingham Blackbirds!" Harry smiled. Even with the stress of their friendship at the moment (and its quick, yet messy, resolution) Ron was just so... _Ron. _

"No, I haven't been able to keep up much with the scores over summer term - what was the score?" Harry replied, perhaps more eagerly than was his normal demeanor.

"210 - 40! But Bagman, the announcer, kept on raving about how it was all the new keeper's fault-" Harry's eyes shifted subtly towards Hermione, who was sitting to his left, and grinned at her complete lack of interest on the subject at hand. She had already pulled out her copy of _Going Beyond Greatness: A Muggle-Born's Guide to Success in the Wizarding World._

Little by little, people stopped staring at them, eventually realizing that the food would indeed disappear eventually. Harry was just about to leave and head up to the Gryffindor Dormitories when he was approached by none other than Neville.

"Uhm... Harry?" Neville squeaked, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Harry hoped fervently he hadn't been bullied into going up to him and asking him something about his black out.

"Yeah, Neville?" Harry said, looking at his friend. Neville shifted again.

"This is kind of a weird request, but..." _Here it comes_, Harry thought grimly. "-could you help me drop Divination class?"

Harry blinked once. Then he blinked again.

"... oh!" Harry said, his surprised reaction coming a bit late. "Erm- yeah, sure... I think you just have to ask for a transfer, since it's so early in the year. McGonagall didn't seem to sad about taking people out of Trelawney's class for some reason."

Neville was visibly relieved. "T-Thanks, Harry!" He stuttered, and ran up the steps out of the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood together for a second, watching the doors bang behind him.

"That was unexpected," Ron said frankly. Hermione nodded as she slowly slung her book bag over her left shoulder. "To the Common Room, then, Harry?" Ron suggested.

Harry nodded, still rather speechless - as well as touched. Then quickly abolished himself for feeling that way - he shouldn't be so surprised at Neville's kindness. Neville, though shoved into the background oftentimes, was one of the most loyal people Harry knew. Shaking his head and smiling a little, Harry followed his friends up the stairwell and through the labyrinth of corridors to the Common Room.

To Harry's great relief, Harry and Ron were able to ascend into the third year boys' dormitory without much interruption. They had said their goodbyes to Hermione at the staircase, saying that they wanted to get away from the majority of students who were still whispering suspiciously.

Hermione had agreed this was a good idea and had ascended into the girls' dormitory to finish her school work in the quiet of her dorm.

When Harry finally reached his bed, he plopped onto it face-first, the oak frame squeaking a bit at the sudden weight. He exhaled loudly, his hot breath reflecting off the red bed covers and creating a mist over his nose. He flipped over with a grunt.

"Some first day for you," Ron commented, riffling through his stuffed bedside table drawer as he tried to find something. Harry groaned in approval, suddenly not having the strength to answer. "Hey, Harry, have you seen my quill?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied tiredly. "Have you checked under you bed?" Ron hung his head upside down over his mattress until it was suspended only a couple inches off the ground.

"Yes! Thanks, Harry," Ron said, grabbing the dusty quill and picking his half-finished Charms essay off the table with a look of disgust.

Harry laid in his bed, too tired even to move for a good hour. Finally, bemoaning his inability to fall asleep, Harry sat up and tapped the lamp next to his bed with his wand. The light turned on. He levitated his school books, parchment and a quill out of his school bag and let them drop with a "_whump!"_ onto his lap. Picking up his potions textbook with distaste, Harry propped the text up onto his knees, dipped the quill into an inkwell on his bedside table, and began to write about Kileg Trivoli - inventor of the Waif's Wonder potion.

And then he did his Charms work. And then was about to pull out his Divinations book ("Unfogging the Future") when he remembered, with relief, that he was no longer taking the subject. Smiling in relief, Harry dropped his work to the left of his bed and jumped onto the chilled, wood floor. Shivering a bit, he changed into his pajamas and returned to his bed. Waving his wand tiredly, Harry muttered,

"_Tempus._" Neon-blue light floated in a ribbon out of his wand and formed the numbers. It was extremely early to be going to sleep - only 8:45. But all the same, Harry was tired. Switching off his light, Harry mumbled "goodnight," to Ron, flipped onto his side, and was asleep within a minute.

The next morning, Harry woke up the earliest he'd ever woken in Hogwarts. Well, excluding that one time in first year when Hedwig had landed on him at 3:00AM, but all the same. The earliest he'd ever woken without going back to sleep. It was 5:00, and Harry was wide awake.

He'd been laying in bed for the last half hour, and wasn't getting any more tired. Finally, with a grunt of annoyance, Harry leaped out of bed and got dressed as quickly as he could. Apparently, it was too early even for the house elves to have lit the Common Room fire, which channeled its heat (through magic vectors) around the Gryffindor Tower. Once he was layered up appropriately, Harry slipped past Seamus, Neville, Ron, and Dean and headed down into the Common Room.

The normally packed room was eerily silent, all the chairs empty except for one with a sleeping, shadow-eyed fifth year surrounded by O.W.L preparation review. Harry stepped out the portrait hole, waking the disgruntled Fat Lady. It was only then that he realized he had nothing to do outside the Gryffindor Tower. Double-checking that his wand was stowed safely in his front pocket, Harry wandered aimlessly around the castle.

In truth, it was the first time he'd ever just walked around Hogwarts without a set destination. Taking his time, Harry strolled along the corridors and moving staircases, stopping every once and a while to examine sleeping portraits. One, Harry noted with amusement, had fallen asleep suspended halfway between two portraits.

Heading upstairs without aim, Harry made an effort to go places he'd rarely (if ever) been before. It amazed him that after three years of calling Hogwarts his home, he still didn't know all its nooks and crannies. He walked further and further upwards until he had climbed to the very top of the Astronomy tower.

He stepped outside and shivered, quickly retreating into the gradually heating castle. It was much too cold out there. He meandered his way back down to the seventh floor, where the Gryffindor dorms were located, taking a different (slower) route than he usually would. He was nearly to the portrait of the Fat Lady when he stopped, feeling something was amiss. Harry looked around quickly, but saw no one.

He was about to shrug it off when he realized - _his wand was gone._ Ice formed in his blood. _How could I have lost my wand?_ He asked himself repeatedly as he hurried back up the hall, eyes searching the wide hallways. When he'd almost reached the Astronomy tower when he doubled back.

_I need to find my wand, I need to find my wand... _he thought frantically, running back and forth along the hallway, peeking into the many hiding places it could have easily rolled into. Then, there was a grinding sound. Harry jumped, hand automatically reaching towards the pocket where his wand was usually stationed.

But nothing had changed in the hall; or so, for a moment, it seemed. Then, out of nowhere, a door appeared on the wall. It was ornate - with black iron swirls and levers creating an ornate locking system. Despite his wand-less panic, Harry was immediately intrigued. After all, a door had just appeared randomly!

Harry paused, checking down the hallways to make sure no one was looking. Nobody was there, excluding the waking portrait of Victorian-era man (labeled Barnabas the Barmy on the burnished nameplate below) surrounded by snoring, tutu-wearing trolls. The sleepy man waved.

Not able to hold back his curiosity, Harry grabbed the handle to the door and tugged. To his surprise, it fell open easily and without a sound. Again, Harry checked his surroundings. Then, he stepped inside the mysterious room.

First, Harry was disappointed. There seemed to be nothing strange or unusual about the hidden room he'd just discovered. Then, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, Harry's mouth dropped open into an obtuse-looking gape reminiscent of Crabbe or Goyle.

In the middle of the room, there was a spotlight. In the middle of the spotlight, there was a circular, stone pedestal. In the middle of the pedestal... _was Harry's wand. _

Harry gasped audibly, the sound seeming loud in the deathly silent room. Harry rushed forward, grabbing his phoenix and holly wand from the spotlight and examining it. It seemed to be in order... he checked it all around. Felt it in his hand. Weighed it on his palm. It seemed to be his wand... but how could it be? He had dropped his wand somewhere along the corridor between the Astronomy Tower and the Gryffindor dorms. If there was one place Harry knew his wand wasn't supposed to be, it was here. He'd never even seen this place before, much less dropped his wand in it!

Pulling the wand closer to his eyes, Harry looked at the bottom. Yep - there it was! The little scratch Ron had caused when he'd shoved a box of Ice Mice into Harry's pocket once during Charms and Flitwick had been approaching! There was no doubt about it - this was indeed his wand... but how?

Once again, Harry looked around the room. It was moderately small, with high ceilings and a tiled floor. Could it be some sort of room where lost things went when people dropped them? But if so, why didn't the professors tell them about it and have them go here when they reported lost items? Not to mention his wand was most certainly not the only lost thing in Hogwarts, and other than the pedestal and Harry, the room was empty. It didn't add up.

Holding his wand securely in his hand, Harry paced the room, examining the walls as if expecting another door to randomly open. About five minutes later, when he had been thoroughly convinced that there wasn't any more secret passageways attached to the mysterious room, decided to leave.

He was tempted to attempt to figure out further what was up with the room - at least get a head start on the research he'd be doing later - but realized he had no idea what time it was. Harry was suddenly nervous. What if classes had already started? And that settled it. Harry walked forcefully towards the doorway out of the room, and pulled it open.

He stepped outside.

After stepping out of the iron door, Harry whirled around, wondering if it would disappear into the stone wall. And indeed, after a couple of seconds, the black door began to melt until there was nothing left but a blank wall.

Harry blinked, and raised his hand to feel the wall where the door had disappeared. Yep, it was only wall. Leaning over so his ear was against the stone, Harry tapped it hard with his knuckles. There was no James Bond-esque hollow ringing. Harry rubbed his reddened knuckles in annoyance.

He examined the spot where the door had popped up for a couple more minutes. It remained steadfast and solid. Harry frowned. Perhaps he had to look at the ground and pace as he'd been doing when he was looking for his wand? He tried it, and waited expectantly, but no such door appeared. Disappointed, Harry trekked back to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He checked his watch. He still had an hour and a half until his first class.

Harry approached the stretching guard of the Gryffindor Common room. "Leo Prestantia," he recited dully.

"Right you are, dear," the Fat Lady agreed sleepily. "'Lion Superiority.' Quite right..." The portrait door swung open, and Harry stepped through. The Gryffindor Common Room was substantially more busy now, with several students comparing notes and essays, or talking quietly by the now-lit fireplace.

Harry was interested. He hadn't really been in the Common Room before 8:15AM before... he'd always been asleep. As it was approximately 7:30AM, he wasn't used to the mild traffic flowing through the comfortable room.

Eyes sweeping through the portrait-lined room, Harry's eyes lit up opon seeing a familar figure curled up in an arm chair by the fire. It was Hermione! Harry walked over. She was talking to Ginny, who was seated opposite her, wrapped in a rather lurid pink bathrobe which clashed brilliantly with her damp red hair.

"... like me," Ginny was saying, sounding down. "I don't know, Hermione. Do you think I have a chan-" but Hermione cut her off, her warm brown eyes widening.

"Hello, Harry!" she said loudly. The corners of Harry's mouth turned down. It wasn't like Hermione to be so rude and interrupting - especially towards Ginny, one of her best friends. Ginny, too, seemed to be angry at Hermione's interruption. Her face turned the reddest Harry had ever seen, and this was _including _Ron. She looked at Harry, eyes impossibly wide, before sprinting away to the girls' dorms. Harry was baffled. Hermione had been rude, but not _that_ rude.

"What's with Ginny?" Harry asked, confused. Hermione, strangely, looked a bit triumphant that Ginny had left. Again, Harry frowned. It was even more unlike her to be glad her friend had left the room.

"She's... erm-" Hermione said, at a loss for words for once. "She's just nervous for- for... a Transfiguration quiz she has today." Harry raised an eyebrow. He rather doubted that was Ginny's problem, but decided not to press the subject. After all, he had bigger fish to fry.

"Hermione! Guess what?" Harry said, scooting closer to her. Her cheeks turned a bit rosy.

"Yes?"

"So, I got up early today-" Hermione looked incredulous. "Yes, yes, I know... but anyways. I decided to explore a little around the castle. While I was out, I dropped my wand-"

Hermione gasped in horror. It was most wizard's and witch's worst nightmare to lose or break their wands.

"You lost your wand?" She whispered, dismayed. "But-"

"That's not the point of the story! Let me finish!" She huffed, and settled back into her seat. "Anyways, so I lost my wand. But when I was looking for it, this doorway popped up near that portrait of the wizard and those ballet dancing trolls down the corridor.

"I went inside, out of curiosity-" Hermione snorted in an unladylike manner, unsurprised, "-and inside this empty, on a little pedestal, was my wand!"

Hermione looked surprised, but then frowned. "Are you sure it's your wand?" she questioned. Harry nodded. "But... how could that have happened?"

"I don't know," Harry replied contemplatively. "I thought at first it might be some sort of magical lost-and-found, but-"

"-then there would have been other things there, yeah..." Hermione finished for him. She glanced at the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner of the Common Room. The gold hands read 7:48. "Why don't you show me where you saw the doorway?" she suggested. "I've got all my books and homework ready for the day... do you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Finished it last night." She looked pleased.

"Great! Let's go!" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the considerably more crowded Common Room to the portrait. Excited, they climbed through the portrait hole and into the hall.

Behind them, at the top of the stairs leading to the girls' dorm, they neglected to see a sour-faced redhead glaring down at them before she whirled around and stomped back into her room.

**END OF CHAPTER**

Again, hope you liked it! Sorry, sorry for the late update! This, I'll admit, is certainly my side project for the moment. I'm in the last stretch of my other story, "Just My Luck," and hopefully I'll be done soon! After that, I'm going to focus on this story!

Anyways, as always, reviews are very much appreciated!

~Aquahina


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